


Crimson

by izumi_kamikura



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, Homestuck - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izumi_kamikura/pseuds/izumi_kamikura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Told from multiple points of view, this journey through both intimate relationships and the revelation of the Game's post-effect on the Beta kids, Alpha kids, and their Guardians.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Increase Your Cool By 40%

You suppressed your snickers with a firm hand planted over your own mouth. No way were you going to screw this one up! The prank was entirely golden. You bit down on your lower lip; a habit you knew exposed your horribly bucked teeth even more, and leaned forward ever so silently. "John…" you froze but the slumbering figure before you remained asleep thus quelling your disappointment. You shifted your weight to your knees and slowly moved to grasp the black wire frames of Dave's shades between the thumb and index of your left hand.

He didn't stir, just stayed relaxed in the comfortable position leaning against the cushioned periwinkle material of the sofa in your living room with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs propped on the coffee table in front of him. The same table that was littered with soda bottles, candy wrappers, and three bags of popcorn, one barely touched but now abandoned. You hadn't paid it much attention since your absolutely favorite most amazingly awesome part in the best movie ever had rolled across your TV for the zillionth time. Oh and Dave had fallen asleep about ten minutes into his twelfth time watching Con-Air so he hadn't been there to jeer with you.

Which was why you had to get revenge with the most wickedly cool prank ever. That and the curiosity was excruciating of course. Another reason why you now were kneeling beside him on the couch and vehemently attempting to remove his shades without him waking up. You knew if he did and caught you in the act he would probably disown you as his best friend and long standing partner in ill pranks because the only idea more ludicrous than a shadless Strider was a movie starring Nic Cage that you hadn't seen more than ten times. So you were determined more than anything, obviously.

You watched in anticipation as the shades slide from his pale face to reveal his perfectly normal eyelids above the slightly freckled skin of his nose. You froze in place before suddenly jumping in silent howl of victory that shook the couch enough to arouse him. And of course at that you abruptly stopped all movements; fist that clutched the dark glasses held in the air and other hand shooting out to steady yourself on the back of the sofa. He slumped into the couch a bit more while a strand or two of his blonde hair fell into his face however besides that minor dissimilarity; he seemed fully unaroused from his deep sleep.

You prided yourself on a job well done, bro fisting the air and reaching up to quickly remove your own glasses. Of course these you actually used to see and not to obscure what you saw with as Dave did. But you were John Egbert, prank master and movie extraordinaire, and you were definitely going to try on these sick shades. You sat back on your heels still kneeling beside the oblivious blonde while you carelessly tossed your glasses somewhere on the couch in front of you. Then it hit you, another massively entertaining joke.

You quickly stuck the wire frame of the shades between your teeth because frankly you knew that if you put them down without your own glasses on that they would magically disappear under your nose without a single trace. It had happened before with your own glasses and you knew better than to foolishly trust the deviously cynical frames. Except now you had to calm yourself, quell your glee and meticulously place your glasses on his face without disturbing his unconsciousness. Something you were realizing to be quite a feat with your excitement.

However you got the job done and now you sat back and gazed in triumph at the absolutely adorable Strider in front of you. Without the intimidating shades and added a bit of dorky specs to his innocently oblivious face made him look extremely…cute. You grunted and mentally kicked yourself for thinking such a thing about your best friend, your best male friend. You were not, under any circumstances, going to decide to be homosexual. Nope. no curves for this bean pole. All straightness and right fucking angles.

But he did look reealllyyy adorab- nope! Haha look at you actually entertaining such off limits thoughts of such a blatant homosexual manner! Now here you were in a completely unnecessary gay-panic! Haha! How uncalled for! Get back to the mission at hand before you start puking rainbows and organizing your linens appropriately!

You hurriedly sat the shades on your face and marbled at how dark it made things. God! He must have some sort of night vision with how much dimmer it rendered the already darkened room. To be honest, you felt so fucking chill right now you thought about saying something highly provocative and with just the right amount of contradicting and ironic conciliatory words to confuse someone. But not yourself! Because you were now chill. Chill. Yeeahhh.

"John fucking Egderp!" you admit that yes you almost jumped out of your skin when he yelled at you like that. He was never really anything besides wholly and coolly calm so the anger- no fury- in his voice shocked you so much you quickly ripped the glasses form your face like a child caught in an especially ridiculous act. You held them tightly in your hands as you gawked at your friend.

Ok. So maybe you had expected his eyes to be some entirely embarrassing shade of brown a disappointingly dull gray but this… this was something all together something different. Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped open slightly while he quickly ripped your glasses from his face and chucked them aside in his antagonism. Wait a second? Was he…humiliated? Your eyes scanned the red blush that was quickly spreading across his cheeks but this spectacle was too interesting to avert your eyes from just yet.

You flicked your gaze back to his crimson irises. Just saying that made you shudder but it was true! They were literally the most cherry shade of red to be ever displayed and by his eyes no less. You supposed it was rather fitting for Dave Strider just as your oceanic blue ones supported your image. Yet you weren't the one hiding your exceedingly alluring gaze behind those black Ben Stiller shades like the extraordinary color was something to be highly ashamed of; which it wasn't. Yet that didn't keep him from pouncing on you like a rage filled Strider who just had their little clandestine uncovered.

"Dav- ahh!" you yelled as his accurately leapt to pin you to the couch. Once you tumbled backwards and once he had straddled your hips you yelled at him to get off you, that you didn't care and that you wouldn't tell anyone but he was majorly pissed. You pushed against his torso and squirmed under his weight but he wasn't about to leave you be. Not even kicking your legs like some kind of animal being brutally pinned by its ferocious and blood thirty predator helped. Oh what were you saying; you were a animal being brutally pinned by a ferocious and blood thirty predator.

"John?" he asked inches from your ear and you swallowed the lump in your throat at the newly installed calm placed in is voice. "I..uh..yes?" you replied with the begins of fright saturating your shaking voice as you tried desperately to push him off you. But he had an iron grip on your wrists that were pinned above you and all his weight atop you so after a moment you decided it wise to stop struggling, least your futile attempts only anger him further.

"I am going to kill you Egderp." He hissed in your ear, lips actually pressed against your sullied listening apparatus which you did not shiver at! Because you weren't homosexual nor attracted to your best bro even though he was about to make a muddled mess of Egbert Pie out of you. Which you supposed you should panic about sense he actually seemed…serious.

"D-dave, really I won-aah!" you broke off in a yelp as his tightened his grip around your wrist enough to make you break your hold on his shades that somehow remained clutched in your grasp during the extended struggle. He released your opposite wrist to pluck them roughly from your highly weakened seize. It was then, when you had a relatively free arm, that you made your move. Your comeback, that critical turning point in the climax of all movies you'd seen where the victim tastes his second chance at success.

You wrapped the newly freed arm around his waist and used his shifted weight to push the two off you from the couch. So maybe you hadn't exactly been trying to do just exactly that; tumbling from the plushy security of the sofa however the effect was just as disarming. You both fell, you now on top and he the cushion to break your eminent fall. You landed with a satisfying thump that was accompanied with the audible whoosh of the air being knocked from the lungs of the crimsoned eyed blonde under you.

To be truthful he didn't make that great of an airbag. Or pillow, you thought as your head rolled to the side on his chest. Or polite gentlemen, you remembered as his moan of pain turned into a growl of anger. "Get off me John!" he had began to snarl when you slowly sat up on his hips hands splayed out on his chest as you stared back curiously at his red eyes that glared up at you through narrowed slits. Hiding your blush and mumbling an apology you swiftly plucked the shades from his hand. You made sure the digits of your hand were secured around the glasses this time too. Before you pushed off his chest and made a break for the stairs, that is.

"JOHN!" Dave screamed as you leapt over his limp form and skidded on the floor. It wasn't your fault you were the clumsiest thirteen year old alive nor that your bare feet weren't the best for the carpet; you winced as you almost tripped and did another face plant right there. But you didn't! Because you were now in possession of the Strider Shades once again and even clutched in your palm they increased your cool by 40%.

It was when your foot hit the first stair that you heard the owner of your captive prisoner behind you. Well your house had stairs! You didn't really know if Dave's apartment had stairs but you knew the building itself did but you were positive he probably took the elevator; it seemed the more practical alternative. But you realized how stupid you sounded and you doubt your expertise in stairs gave you that much of an advantage. In fact you thought you just felt him swipe at your shirt but hell you were already halfway up the stairwell and too busy to be disturbed by paranoid induced chase passe- ahh!

You grunted when you chin hit the second from the top step and you literally face planted on the fucking stairs. When you hit your head you swore you saw little orange Davesprites swimming in your blurred vision. Maybe you should of grabbed your own glasses first before going on a mad death chase through your house seeing how you had been so blind you couldn't even judge the steps.

"You're joking. Oh all people you would actually be the first to perish in some hypocrites low-grade shittyass 'horror' movie they air at ungodly hours of the midnight on Lifeti-" you squirmed around till you were on your back and kicked him in the gut hard enough to send him flailing for the hand rail to your right. Or course you didn't have your glasses and honestly you had been aiming just a tad lower. So all in all you figured he was pretty lucky. You on the other hand…

"Your eyes aren't that big of a deal, Dave!" you yelled as you quickly collected yourself from the stairs and scrambled for the closest door on the second floor; your room, conveniently. It took you seconds to barreling into the room and at blazing speeds then backpedal so fast you almost tripped again to slam the door closed. Safe at last! Then your cobalt eyes combed your room as you franticly searched for somewhere to hide his glasses. Your breathing labored and heart pounding you swiftly turned to chuck them in your open closet like they were some sick fire that desperately needed to be extinguished.

"Jooohhhnnn?" you heard him chuckling on the other side of your door right before the knob turned and he stuck his head in. "Your bedroom door doesn't have a fucking lock, dumbass." Well…shit. He smirked at you while he slowly entered the room and slammed the door behind him hard enough to rattle the pictures on your walls. You on the other hand just backed up with your hands up in the defensive position. He shook his head and lunged for you, a skilled attempt you honestly didn't know how you dodged. You God's sake he had had Bro to spare with so you should have been no big deal.

"Where are they?" he commanded turning back around to shove you in the torso with enough force to make you lose your already crappy balance. No strike that, non existent balance. The springs of your bed creaked in protest as you tumbled back onto the disheveled sheets with a yelp. "Where are what, Dave?" you said shakily while his extremely piercing and furiously flaming crimson glare pinned you there. Not that he was scary usually but with this new blaze you felt rather…threatened. A sensation that did just the opposite of vanish when he unexpectedly rushed forwards and jumped on top of you.

"I will kick your pathetic ass back to LOWAS if you don't give me my shades, John." He snarled now in the same position you had been after you both fell off the couch. 'Fell' seeming the proper word anyway. He dug his nails into your chest while leaning forward intimidatingly slow till he was inches from your face. In other words, even without your glasses you could now see 100% clearly of all things Strider eyes.

You chose to ignore his threat and catch ill to a sad case of diarrhea of the oral cavity. "Are Bro's eyes red too?" you questioned suddenly and innocently. He looked clearly taken by surprise and furrowed his brow before answering. "What? No! And that isn't your business anyway!" you decided that if wouldn't hurt to keep going. You reasoned that he was just about as angry as he could get so why not? "So what color are they?" you asked and bit your bottom lip again at the sight of his new transition to confusion. You could blatantly read what he was thinking; it was clearly written on his perplexed face. 'why do I want to tell you these things so badly?'

"Orange…they're kind of…tangerine." He replied breathlessly and shook his head a bit to relieve the astonishment. You could tell he couldn't believe he had just betrayed him like that and yet he seemed to be coming back to his senses. Returning to his anger and gripping your shirt more tightly. You licked your lips and took a breath to ask another question before he 'killed' you like he said he would. "So then are Dirk's eyes or-" he interrupted you again and you then realized he had lost his patience. "Shut up, Egderp." He finally snapped and you fell silent. Not that it was weird or awkward or anything to have your best bro sitting on you in your bed after he'd just chased you through your house on a murder high and then for some unexplainable reason you had felt compelled the question him excessively on sensitive matters. You still weren't sure why you'd done that. It seemed to only make him angrier.

"Um, I'm sorry Dave… your glasses are in the closet." You trailed off into a silence that stretched for a while as you averted your eyes. Now you just felt guilty for this and shameful for making him flip his shit and lose his seemingly impenetrable cool. So now he was staring at you; still straddling your hips, still digging his nails into your chest, and still without his glasses. "Dave? Could you get off me?" you asked cautiously and watched him slowly focus his vermillion eyes back on you. He didn't exactly look irrevocably pissed anymore but he did seem really…calm. Like smoother than chill.

It scared the living shit out of you.

What if he had some weird ass PTS or was suffering from trauma to the head o-or internal bleeding from when you pushed him off the couch? "right." He sighed and hastily moved his weight off you to instead sit beside you. Ok well he was in control of his motor skills as well as lingual so maybe it was just you who was freaking out at this idiosyncratic behavior. You propped yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him since you were already having to squint a tad bit to properly view him.

"Uh, are you ok?" you asked as tentatively as possible while slowly moved a hand forward to nudge his skinny jean clad knee. He seemed unaffected by your attempts. With your rising concern you quickly sat up and scooted so that you were leaning back against the headboard like he was. "You realize that you're probably the only other person excluding Bro who knows about it?" he asked angling his head towards you and raising his eyebrows in astonishment. You weren't exactly sure how to respond seeing how you didn't comprehend why it was such a big deal. But you were trying to understand how this unveiling might have upset him so.

"They're so cool though," you replied with a hand gesture to the eyes in current question. The very corner of his lip upturned in a slight smile that made you add. "I really don't get why you're so ashamed." You averted your eyes, not realizing till after you'd said it that it could sound insulting especially when he was so damn touchy with this exaggerated detail. You still didn't fully grasp why he did too.

"I just am, ok?" he snapped and defensively balled his fist up. It wasn't like he was going to hit you anything; he just needed to feel the pain of his nails digging into his palms. It was like a tiny reminder that this was actually happening and that maybe now would be a good idea to get on with things. And that was just it wasn't it? Get on with things, Strider.

You were about to open your mouth to press further but he stopped you abruptly with his own. You gave a small yelp of surprise when he griped your forearm and turned his head for a much more pleasing angle. Not that…this pleased you. You were not homosexual nor did you intend to convert now! But…but…

You kissed back; an unplanned action which caused you to give a strained moan. What the hell was wrong with you? No the better question was what the hell was wrong with Dave? He was to chill to make out with his bro just as you were too straight to comply. And yet here you were moving your hands up to cup his face while he fervently kissed you. You even took yourself by surprise when your body instinctively began slowly crawling to kneel in front of him. Except you couldn't downplay what you really had done because no matter how you wanted to word it you had to admit it. That your non-homosexual ass had kissed him back and that you were enjoying it too. Hell more than enjoying, not that you confess to that.

You made a small noise when his arms pulled up down to him so that you were leaning against his chest all the while his arms wrapped around your waist. You blushed at the intimate placement of your bodies when he shifted you up again and no, no your hands hadn't just gripped the headboard in delight. Why would you do that? You weren't homosexual; just making out with your best friend…no big deal, right?

But it was a big deal, you realized when he rhythmically moved his warm hands up under your white Ghostbusters T-shirt and the half gasp half moan of enjoyment that you breathed actually made him shiver. Not that you really noticed seeing how you were rather busy tangling his blonde hair in your quivering fingers. You both made for a gasping lung full of air when you momentarily broke apart before resuming the kissing that was beginning to become dangerously heated.

You heart was pounding and only speeded up to an exceedingly sparked rate when his tongue slide past yours again. But that time had been different, he was more resolute. More thrilled by the feel of you, you reasoned, since he seemed to be unable of getting enough of you as you leaned your head back. Exposing your neck for his taking was admittedly a rather horrid idea seeing how the hickies he left would be all too visible the following day. You had foolishly trusted he would only embellish your collarbone with the nips and kisses that quickly had you biting your bottom lip in pleasure. You only prayed no one would notice.

"D-dave?" you cautiously asked, your bitten nails digging into his back when he harshly shifted your weight so that he could move his legs around you. Or more along the lines that he was only placing himself in a spot where you would have to straddle his lap like you were currently having difficulties resisting. And that's precisely what you did not unto his bewilderment but more like his blatant satisfaction.

"hhhm?" he answered in question to your hopelessly stuttered inquiry. You were going to remind him that you were not, under any pressuring, going to be homosexual but you never got the chance. His lips had found yours again and showed no signs of letting up or ceasing their mind numbing movements. And apparently he had also allowed his mind to entertain another idea as well.

You gave an audible gasp he countered with a snicker when his slide his hands down to your hips and proceeded to message his own into yours. In fact, he did it again just to hear you compose that one gratifying note of bliss. Either that or he knew you would want more and merely take that outstandingly delightful matter into your own hands. You did, of course, not realizing he had essentially teased you on purpose.

You blamed him for how you leisurely began working your hips against his in a way that back fired for him. In other words, your relaxed pace drove him enormously crazy. He groaned with a small growl low in his throat before broke away from your kissing. "John. What the hell." He said while giving you an incredulous look that made you abruptly stop grinding on him but blush so scarlet red that your best bro was chuckling with the new entertainment.

"I,uh…well you, um, started it…" you replied obliviously embarrassed averting your eyes and awkwardly shifting your weight. "That's not what I meant." He stated seductively before pushing you from his lap and pinning you to the bed. The springs protested at the soft thump you made falling back onto the disorderly sheets. You squirmed under him at first, presuming he meant this threateningly like the earlier chase. However you soon realized what manner in which he did in fact mean it and what 'it' was. You found the thought extraordinarily thrilling as much as you did remarkably pleasurable. ..


	2. Maddened Potentials

You sat on his bed, captivated by the presently attention arresting notion that you actually were in Dave's room. Your blue eyes scanned his room while you absentmindedly picked at the hem of his sheets. First of all it was a bigger mess than yours was even though Dave called it 'a conceptually disheveled display of everything marginally pleasing'. You called it messy. He had crows in his room for god's sake!

Like the one that cawed at you from atop its perch on one of his highly prized turntables causing you to jump from your thoughts. He didn't seem to mind them since he still neglected to close his windows or tidy up around here. Not that you really cared if his personal living place was particularly orderly; yours certainly wasn't. Of course yours wasn't a major health hazard! You glared at the shit ton of wires, cords, and cables that span the length and them some around his room. That accompanying the bottles of apple juice some opened yet some empty, left room for a rather deplorable electrical spill.

And that's exactly why he currently wasn't here too. He had ventured to the kitchen to retrieve himself some of the wicked liquid to 'substantially quench this brutally raging forceful thirst and the intrepidly hostile beast it continually morphs into.' He'd offered you some too and you had gratefully accepted such a suggestion, even though you didn't really like the stuff that much. You found yourself to be more of an OJ man than an AJ.

You closed your eyes for the slightest moment; trying to remember how long it had been since you had first kissed. A shiver leapt down your spine at the strangely pleasurable thought while you balled your hand into a fist as the other floated up to rubbed the back of your eyelids. It had been at least a week and his attitude towards you had been substantially different than you had previously presumed.

It was like…like he had completely forgotten it had happened! It drove you insane with questions you felt too nervous to ask. Had you disappointed or angered him? I mean it wasn't like you had done, um, that but still it was the first time your homophobic Egbert ass had kissed a guy. And this wasn't just an ordinary guy; it was your best friend. Or an ordinary kiss, you thought and felt your own cheeks blush.

But the matter was still very much present in your mind even though a bit of time has since passed. It wasn't like he was blatantly ignoring you or refusing to talk to you. Hell he had let you come over to his apartment; something you had previous wagered he was far too possessive to do but he had still surprised you with the offer. In fact it had been a totally random suggestion that had you glancing nervously at your transportation pad in one corner of your recently extended room.

'You've yet to intrepidly venture to the precariously clandestine realm of the Strider's haven't you?' He wasn't there in your house, of course. He hadn't been back over since the morning after you had both woken up and no you hadn't woken up like that. It didn't matter how much you found yourself actually enjoying the crimson kid, you were not, and you firmly stated, not a homosexual. You just liked cuddling intimately and making out half naked in a bed alone in your house with a guy…oh god.

The facepalm you issued greatly outweighed that of any other disgraceful action of mortification you thought you had ever proceeded to strike your endearing face with and or on. In fact you found that perhaps one facepalm may not have sufficiently enclosed the allegorically tainted manner in which your primal strike of lament was required. You were just about to complete the notion with an x2 combo before the realization of how preposterous this may in fact seem and that you should instead remove your pathetic posterior from this exceedingly comfortable sleeping courters to confront him in the kitchen. The one your thought had been so royally wrecked over for the past week.

You stood up; steadying yourself while you jumped from the surface of his bed that gave a foul creaking cry. The yowl only gave you incentive to traverse the treacherous jungle of electrical wires in his room and majestically leap through the open doorway. You braced yourself on the wall opposite it, stopping abruptly in your tracks and gazing down the hallway incredulously. The large gear clock at the end of the hall told you it was around eight thirty in the evening.

You couldn't be completely sure but you were pretty positive that it had been a little before eight when you checked your cell the moment he left the room for his precious AJ. Uh-oh. You hurriedly gave a fleeting look back in his room before movement and a plushy arm snaking around your calf made your attention fly to the creepiest shit to have ever wrapped its disturbed little orange arms around you. "uum…hey Cal?" you supplied not really sure what to say. He was a doll, or a plushy whatever, yet he still seemed to consistently mimic the movements of the humans sharing a residence with him.

You nudged him with your foot and gaped nervously at him as he only seemed to grin even larger at you with that same maniacal look in his blue eyes. So far the beast had yet to disturb you, besides a brofist when you had journeyed to the den to find your cell phone. You faintly wondered if Bro placed him around the apartment to scare the living shit out of you or any other guest as part of his sick entertainment. Well, it was definitely working.

You swallowed your alarm and hastily reached down to disentangle him from your leg; something that proved quite the task. Yet you still glared at him as you clutched him by the midsection before taking him with you to the kitchen. At the least you figured if this was a wickedly outrageous kidnapping of your best friend by his Bro then you would have the leverage of his most prized possession. Or what you figured was his most prized possession.

"Hey Dave?" you called into the silent air of the kitchen before moving to the island where a small scrap of paper lay sadly crumpled. Your fingers skimmed over the edges of the counter and your hold of Cal tightened before you quickly took the paper and unfolded its wrinkled secret. 'meet me on the roof.' The precise manuscript was scrawled in the paper in an odd shade of orange that faintly sparked recognition in your mind. You paid the inconsistent hint no mind though; only returned the paper to its position on the counter as the soft sounds of footsteps distracted your attention once more.

"Hey lil bro." the tall lean character smirked, tossing his sword atop the island counter causing you to jump. He swept a fingerless gloved hand across his brow after removing his discreet black hat and reaching for the refrigerator door. You watched his every fluid movement, never actually having met the older Strider nor faced his exceedingly odd habits and preferences. You also didn't want your first meeting to seem rude so you considered replying…before you realized he was talking to Cal and not you. Well then.

You pursed your lips to the side and subtly glanced at the scrap of paper before letting your eyes wonder to his shaded eyes. 'Orange…they're kind of…tangerine.' You recalled Dave saying after you had glimpsed his own crimson eyes so you continued to gaze at the pointed anime shades and wonder about the presumably orange iris' behind them. You didn't care that you were staring and it seemed neither did he as he reached into the fridge for a bottle of apple juice he languidly uncapped and brought to his lips.

"Are your eyes orange?" the bottle stopped inches from his parted lips and you could practically feel his glare taking you in and analyzing every visible inch of you. You watched as he slowly brought the bottle down and proceeded to recap it without drinking from it. You bit your bottom lip; that nervous habit you had reappearing once more as you took a step back and considered bolting for Dave's room. You couldn't remember if he had a lock or not like yours but you also reasoned you wouldn't make it two measly steps out of this kitchen before he got you.

"Give me Cal." He stated simply stretching out a hand in your direction. You looked down and realized the chuckle-voodoo doll had wrapped its arms around your waist and legs around your thigh. The hand you had been clutching him with was now gripping the edge of the counter and couldn't recall when it had released him. "Uuummm…ok?" You answered and furrowed your brow while reaching down to pull him from your torso by his midsection as you had earlier from your calf. His orange arms and legs now hung limply as you quickly placed him in the extended hand provided.

You thought you were off the hook and began to slowly walk backwards while he gently placed his beloved puppet on the counter. But then he reached for his sword and turned in your direction while you abruptly froze. He slowly walked towards you, coming from behind the counter gloved hand tightening on the shaft of the sword and intense but hidden gaze reanimating your escape attempts.

You backed up until with painful realization felt the cool surface of the wall against your back. He was at least a foot if not more taller than you to start off and probably twice your size even though he still remained lean. You watched the light from the ceiling fixtures glint off his shades as well as the gleaming sword he held threateningly in his grasp. The same on that lightly taped the wall inches from your face.

You swallowed and licked your lips, ready to apologize or beg for forgiveness. Whichever meant he wasn't going to kill you. Well at least seriously harm you. He cocked his head to the side and leaned against the arm he had placed above your head. "John, huh?" he said still glaring at you in a way that made you feel pretty insignificant. But you attempted vehemently to not let this show on your facial feature which you presumed you failed at.

You watched as his gleaming sword inched ever closer to your startled expression while he too leaned in close. You could smell that odd mixture of sweat and burned tar like constructors plastered the outdoor tops of the roofs with as well as that subtle hint of cologne under the added heat induced scents. You blinked quickly and balled your fist up at your side before supplying him with an answer. "Y-yeah?"

You could see him mulling some indescribable decision over in his blonde head yet his actually facial features were barely a clue. They were guarded, kept neutral yet calm like it was an especially difficult trick he had master expertly. The mask had yet to waver as he composedly replied. "well John-" he was interrupted, something you were silently thankful for and you knew the relief showed on your features as well as you knew he had calculated the source of the effect the disruption had on you.

"Bro." you heard Dave state behind the one he coolly directed the threat to. You tried to get a glimpse of him over his shoulder however futile your attempts were. You froze when his sword gently brushed the side of your face it had been menacing. However your intrepid hero remained ever so ominous towards your own intimidating captor, something you found slightly eased your fright.

You jumped at the sudden movement of Bro as he collected himself from the wall without harming you with a single scratch. Well he had scared the living shit out of you and that was something that counted in your book. You now definitely knew not to trifle with the older Strider as well as you knew not to ask of their eye color. Why had you done such a brashly idiotic thing to begin with? Like you even knew!

The only thing you knew was that you possibly now owed Dave your life and that you were slowly becoming safer from his brothers maddened potentials by the second. Yet your best friend seemed to be on the opposite end of the spectrum as he soundlessly sauntered towards Dave. He reached up suddenly and snatched the shades from his startled face to reveal his unique irises. Something that had your eyebrow shooting up in astonishment and your incredulous express matching his.

"If John here knows then who are you to hide from, little man?" Bro coolly said while swirling the wire framed between his finger and thumb. You were surprised by the blatantly astonished expression on Dave's face almost more so than the crimson eyes that stared at you from over his older brother's shoulder. In fact his astounded gaze didn't leave your once while Bro swiftly turned on his heel to walk from his wordless sibling.

He had taken Cal and his sword as well as Dave's shades as he exited the kitchen but you swore you had seen something. You could have staked you life on the fact that when he walked by you he purposely tilted his head to the opposite side and glared down at you. But maybe he had done this for one reason; you wondered if the smirk that flitted across his features was a reaction to the hint of orange iris' you glimpsed from the bottom side of his shades that made your own eyes widen with recognition.

That bastard. He had done it intentionally! And now you found yourself being placed amongst the tremendously diminutive number of who were aware of the Strider's actual secret. Both of them. Yet you weren't about to question the older one out of blatant fright and the younger, the one that was your age yet twice as cool, well he was a whole diverse situation. A delicate scenario you had stumbled into by complete and utter accident, fortunate or not you were still attempting to decipher.

"You asked him about his fucking eyes didn't you, John?" Dave snapped at you before quickly moving forwards around the counter towards you, anger multiplied in every step. His expression mirrored that of the previous time you had seen his eyes and the fury smoldering behind them had been enough to get you fleeing through your own house. You doubted making a run for it would be a very good idea. In fact you were beginning to think that your new cowardly instinct was to flee, something that was also starting to make you feel rather bold.

You had to get over this emerging habit, no not the annoying lip biting, the cowardly urge! So…um…you couldn't exactly explain what had overtaken you to be honest yet you found yourself swiftly moving forward to grip the front of his record T-shirt and shove him into the fridge to the left a little too forcefully. The shove made the contents of the icebox rock and emit precarious signs of disturbance. You saw the surprise on his face and felt it on yours. So it seemed you were both rather astounded by your own ostentatious and flippant actions.

"Dave?" you asked while he only stared back perplexed and allowing his hands to gentle wonder to your hips. You didn't notice his subtle touch nor did you perceive the equally as faint way he had pulled you ever so much closer. "sup." He answered glancing at your lips in a feverish way that made you blush slightly. You wondered if he was toying with you. If the manner in which his red eyes only seemed to smolder that much more was a cruel test or trick to humiliate you. Yet you found it pleasingly genuine.

You licked your lips and finally mustered enough of your courage to do it. To harshly shove your lips over his in a forceful move that made him gasp against your mouth. Some part of you liked turning the tables as you had, to be the one who got to provoke gasps and install surprises in a way you thought had been reserved for him earlier. You loosened your hold on his shirt and gradually move your hands to his chest as he pulled you closer.

He worked his lips against yours, molding them to the changing shape of yours, not acting to surprised when your tongue fringed on the borders of his teeth. You faintly felt him pushing you backwards, hips knocking into yours, at the same time as your kissing became more heated. The cool surface of the counter hinting at the small of your back was a reminder that he was taking the lead again. Yet as you hurriedly broke apart for a short breath to quell your labored breathing you felt his hands pushing against your thighs. It took you a moment to realize that he wanted to move you onto the surface of the island and when you understood his plan you felt your hands leaving his chest for a better steadying position.

You braced yourself on the even surface of the island before hoisting yourself onto its flat plane. Your hands then resumed their journey to his blonde hair, first continuing to message his chest and work to his neck. He steadily moved forward and pushed against your knees until you opened them to allow him passage. Yet no matter how prepared you still made a small noise of pleasure that provoked your legs to wrap around his hips. While you crossed your ankles behind him he was began smoothing deep circles into your thighs that was enough to take your strained moan up an octave when he suddenly shifted his hips forward.

Your hair stood on edge, your heart beat continued to race and of course your labored breathing heated the once crisp and threatening air of the kitchen. You had finally managed to tangle your hands in his hair and felt the pleasure of knowing it was you who was letting the silky strands twine with your long fingers. You had been a bit distracted but broke away long enough for him to callously remove your glasses and absently set them beside you somewhere.

The suddenly astounded but pleased cry you gave when he bucked his hips forward into you again sent you into a frenzied fervor. His fingers hooked into the belt loops of your khaki cargo shorts since he was presently allowing you to searchingly move your hands under the hem of his shirt to explore the expanse of his sides and furthermore chest. You figured he wouldn't be able to resist doing the same and after a moment's hesitation you felt the fingers that had been pulling at your belt loops moving to your hip bones.

He grasped the points of the hard bones of your hips to smooth his thumbs over the numbs of the perturbing bones. Your skin was highly sensitive at your sides and conveniently where his hands had decided to set up camp. That being said the dark shiver that leapt done your arched spine came close to stealing your already arduous breath. You scooted forward on the counter and tightened your legs around him while arching your back slightly. You hoped he would get the picture an-

"Almost forgot my AJ." The lightly amused voice said from behind you. For god's sake it startled you so much that you bit your own tongue if not his and gasped with the sudden rude intruder. The disruption was embarrassing enough to make Dave clearing his throat and patting your thigh to hint that you should unwrap your legs from his hips. You did and awkwardly leaned back on your hands, still sitting on the counter while your best friend leaned on the counter uneasily. He messaged the back of his neck with a trembling hand while shoving the other deep in his pockets in hopes no one would notice their quivering.

But you were fairly certain the one he aimed to hide the sudden and uncalled for interruption was his exceedingly rude Bro who had conveniently been reminded of his fatal thirst after having left the kitchen at least fifteen minutes ago. He languidly sauntered in with the most disgustingly amused smirk crossing his features as he quickly opened the fridge to retrieve his drink once more. You averted your eyes embarrassed and looking for your glasses. Or more like letting your fingers flutter over the surface of the counter till they came into contact with the frames.

Once your pinky skimmed over them and you had properly grasped them you hastily shoved them back on your face. You weren't sure why though because now you could see ever stretching sneer changing his usually calm expression. You swallowed the humiliated lump in your throat while he walked from the room with a contented snicker. You glanced over at Dave with reddening cheeks before he cleared his throat and said.

"well…now that this has been adequately awkward…"

"oh my god Dave, shut up!"


	3. One Such Insufferable Prickish Strider

With a flourish of gleaming metal and clashing swords you brought your katana down with the most precise strike. The accurate move should of connected squarely with the larger mans shoulder and thus continue in an arch down the expanse of his chest. But it didn't. In fact the well-defined maneuver didn't even begin to come close to inflicting the damage which you had previously intended. No, he deflected it smoothly and effortlessly.

"Nice try thought, little man." He grunted with the slightest chuckle under his words as his tachi blade came down upon yours to deflect to upwards. You lost your balance; mortified and grinding your teeth trying to bridle your fury. You thought you were doing rather well for one of your stature. Till he whipped the hilt of his blade around to bash you in the temple. But not too hard. Never with too much force.

Yet you still found your vision swimming and a hiss pushing its way past your lips. He didn't seem to notice, in fact you were thoroughly surprised when he leapt forward to counter his own attack against yours and push you back a couple feet with a well placed shove to the chest via forearm. The whoosh of the air leaving your lungs and the groan that accompanied your reaction set him on edge.

"Br-" you had begun after finding some fresh breath of air in the startlingly thick atmosphere deep with smog and humidity. But he had taken a step forward, sidestepping your jab and grinding his teeth in anticipation of your next move. Retaliation at its best, you always reasoned. He was playing you; attempting to anger you or break your cool to the point you screwed up. Or at least lost your concentration vitally enough that your attack was as easily countered as your almost uncannily predictable verbal retort.

You could tell this was going to be one of those fights were he pushed you almost past your presumably exceedable limits. In other words, blood would be shed and sweat you knew would indolently mix with the blazing hot tar at your feet and haze in the air. He'd done it before, when you'd been the slightest bit to smartass or overstepped your bounds on his lenient curfews and apartment rules. Because he saw your little acts of defiance as your need for attention and all be damned if you didn't get that consideration.

So what you hadn't asked or said a word about John? But it was more than that. Your candid persecution possessed a deeper meaning than that. That unshakable mask of collected cool was the slightest bit strained. Intense and provoked.

The small noise that escaped your throat when you deflected his forceful strike was due to the way your wrist was screaming at you. But he didn't slow down or ease up like usual. You had already established that this was more than just a regular sparring between the two of you. He knew about you and John, didn't he?

"Damn straight I do, David." He growled, momentarily taking you off guard even though you prided yourself with how you ducked past his swipe at you. Quickly and efficiently you reconstructed your cool with record setting seconds. But how? How had he known about the two of you?

Sure you hadn't closed the door that one time but like you really had done anything especially lewd. Fuck, knowing that elusive bastard, Cal probably ratted you out. You knew you should of only left that highly classified shit for his humble abode. Well that or Bro must have heard you through the walls. You blamed John and the sensitive little ass he was. And had.

"Oh yeah?" you asked with a grunt of frustration when he eluded you once more with a faster than you could follow spin and strike to the shoulder you proficiently fought off with an adequate block. You allowed yourself a smirk; a deadly dreadful mistake.

"Yeah." He retorted with all the intensity of the world behind it.

Oh shit.

With a cry of surprise and furthermore pain that didn't even deter him you fell back. He had sideswiped your legs out from under you after disarming you in more ways than one. To your evident alarm your katana clattered to the surface of the roof with your shades and dignity. Your arms went out to the side, flailing and desperate for any grasp as you realized with a sickly dead weight that you were near the edge of the roof.

It was like the entire damned world and all its pestilence decided the slow the fuck down and take a much needed o'clock break from all things definitively productive. And if sincere productively silhouetted your tumbling descent to crude punishment deemed death to an unspeakably shitty chalk outline of fatality you'd soon become two stories below on the pavement, then so be it. Set it in stone. Carve it out of your smoldering corpse. Like you gave a flying fuck because it had to happen some fateful day.

But he had to ruin that one for you too, huh? Even silent still you watched in horrified anticipation as his fingerlessly gloved hand shot out to precarious skim yours. His fingertips grazed yours as you frantically reached for him. For any anchor to restore that indecisive gravity and right yourself on the sweltering tar. That slow motion effect outlined everything; from the marginal twitch of his jar tightening to the almost imperceptible glint of sunlight off those ironically ridiculous anime shades to the tensing of the muscles under his polo. You took it all in as you plummeted out of his grasp.

What sent your stomach into your throat the most was when you feet actually left the ground. As painfully gradual as it was to endure you still weren't one hundred percent ready for that significantly unsubtle shift in weight and gravity. Gog, everything was so detailed! Like some especially sick jest you fell back with a gasping cry. You knew your unshaded eyes would show everything you felt and perceived just as you knew that behind his cloaking façade he was at the least marginally unsettled.

Just the way you felt when unyielding boulder of impatience and fear grew when he jumped off after you. His tachi sword was carelessly tossed behind him to the solid safety of the roof as he brought his opposite hand around to swipe for your shirt. A miss that made you cry out in apprehension before you outstretched your hand again, reaching for him and whatever salvation you thought he'd hold.

In the very back and dangerously bleak recess of your mind you questioned why you had done that. The both of you were falling to be bluntly put. How could he help? Yet you still felt the anxiety disappear when the digits of his left hand finally grasped and twined with yours. Just as quickly his right swooped down, procuring an iron grip on your forearm that you predicted would leave a sizable bruise. Oh fuck it, you wore long sleeves anyway. Something he took advantage of when he then moved to grab the front of your shirt and protectively pull you to him.

You couldn't say you weren't comprehensively astonished by this nor that you didn't let this show on your face that was ironically buried in the hollow of his throat. You could feel the thrum of that strong heart beat whether it was yours or his you didn't know as your fingers gripped the front of his polo. The only thing you were consciously aware of was that you were falling. And just because his arms were wrapped affectionately around you as you plummeted wasn't going to make the slightest difference. Or so you thought.

The slight growl of pain awoke your senses to something more than just your immanent doom. It reminded you that he always had a reason for doing the shit he did and that there was absolutely no way in hell he would kill you like that. The jerk that made you tighten you grip on him was accompanied with that harshly installed sense of gravity being thrust back into your arms with vital force and hypnotically irresistible relief.

He must have grabbed one of the support struts on the towered roof you'd fallen from and used the amounting momentum to swing you into one of the landings that segregated the descent from the summit of the roof. And now you were being thrust forth from your condescending situation and pushed from a fatal demise as if nothing and no one was to blame. You didn't care if he'd saved your ass. You were pissed.

His grip on you tightened, almost crushing you to his chest as you dropped to the landing with a solid thump. You heard and felt the air being forced form his lungs with a satisfying groan before he released you. His arms fell to the his sides, laying back on the rough cement landing as you rolled your head to the side from his chest and glanced at his impassive face. From the angle you could almost see his extraordinary eyes. Not that they held to much captivation for you as you had long ago decided them a mere detail to him just as your crimson ones were to you.

Without hesitation you sat up, balancing you weight on your knees and slumping to your elbows to avoid your arching wrist as you searched his face for any sign of pain. To your contentment you found it hidden away in the subtle way his jaw tensed and the lines of his face seemed harden under his mask of indifference. You felt his legs shift under you and wondered if he'd injured himself further in his oh so 'valiant rescue endeavor'.

With a smirk you pursed your lips and asked in the most sincerely smartass tone you could muster. "You K?" You registered the irritation that seemed to flit across his features for the slightest second before it was replaced with complacent composure. He caught his breath with a deep wheezing sigh that moved your bangs before creating an adequately infuriating reply.

"Just peachy. You?" with faint surprise you felt his gloved hands move to grip your sides. You swallowed your protest when he began massaging the area of your lower back in enticing deep circles before adding. "Figured those nail marks might-" you cut him off faster than it took for the slightest red blush to tint your cheeks. "Don't even fucking start it, Bro."

You'd fell right into his trap. "Start what?" He gave a short retort in a controlled voice that, to you, told you just how provoked he was by this. In fact after shooting him a blatant look that clearly read to drop it and be completely done with it as well as everything about it, you moved to sit up on just your knees; now kneeling over him. You felt his hands leave you as you roughly pushed off his chest for assistance in standing up.

"There's nothing going on between John and I. So just drop it." You spat, feeling your muscles tense as he sat up wordlessly and watching you intently. You knew that method of calculation he always used like a particularly well procured battle strategy that just so happened to be his primary and initial defense. Or more like the expository background that was gathered to further heed the defense and/or attack. How he would persuade your every move, reaction, word and judge those actions to decide just how to develop his reaction. Like some computer or the well oiled machines of supreme intelligence he crafted for leisure time.

In other words, now, as he mulled over your conclusion jumping and borderline hostile protectiveness of that Egbert ass you knew you had already screwed up. Already given him all the clues and details from your expressions and defensiveness that he knew exactly what you were thinking. It fucking killed you every time.

"I never suggested there was, Dave." He uttered in the calmest voice he could master knowing that he had just snared you in his verbal trap. Prey caught in a spider's web. You almost bit your tongue at the way you had stupidly waltzed into such an easily avoidable noose! However you kept your features collected and guarded throughout the ordeal as you watched him stand from the landing and steal a few steps forward. You stood your ground, waiting patiently while remaining on edge.

"Let me see your wrist." He coaxed, lightly touching the tips of his fingers to our forearm. You seemed the slightest bit taken aback but still glanced down solemnly at the sore appendage that had been aching its own nuisance of pain for the duration of the 'argument', per se. It was marginally redder than your surrounding flesh and a bit swollen, you noticed. But you didn't need his help, now did you?

"It's fine." You barked, moving it to your side rather than how you had been almost cradling it protectively in front of you. When he took another threatening step forward you locked your eyes with his, or rather exactly where you knew those damned orange iris would be staring you down. He being a few inches taller than you, of course you were forced to tilt your head up ever so slightly however your every fiber stood on edge as his lifted a finger under your chin to tilt your head up even more.

"You sure?" He asked cocking his head to the side with a tsk tsk. You braced yourself, already guessing he was going to pull some stunt that would ultimately lead in either a lesson forcefully taught or a moral brutally tugged back into place. Either wouldn't surprise you yet neither would leave you highly suspicious and constantly alert for his comeback. You didn't, however, expect exactly what came to you.

With lightning reflexes he had shoved you back into one of the column struts that crisscrossed the landing like an especially entrapping cage. You bit your lip as to not cry out when you back struck the bolted support beam while he shifted your weight up to his hips. Pinning you there with his torso he then grabbed your wrists, tacking them on either side of your head. It was then when his hands secured there steady grip on your injured wrists that you gave a hiss of the pain that was needling through the tendons that he eased his grip.

"But weren't you 'fine'?" he asked coolly, massaging your wounded wrist till you squeezed your eyes shut and ground your teeth. You bit back a yell of protest and tried to focus on any different issue than the current one you found yourself in. No matter what you weren't about to scream 'uncle' and grant him his little sadistic pleasure of seeing you fall down under his dominating influence.

"I am." You ground out, listening to the way your voice strained out in a gravelly pain ridden shriek. The muscles in your midsection tightened as you vehemently attempted to squirm out of his suffocating hold. You arched your back, momentarily thankful as the rough texture of the beam ceased to cut into your back before he leaned forward that much more, forcing you back. Your knees tightened around his hips and you dug your heels into the small of his back, trying to urge him to back off. Like it made even a minimal difference.

As tall as he was you were still eye level and when he gradually leaned forward you ceased your struggles, choosing instead to stare him down with all the intensity that your pain had provoked. "Are you sure?" he repeated, every single word and all three syllables more forced than the last with the dead weight of competition. And with every word his grip on your wrist tightened till the faintest echo of a protest formed on your lips.

He saw it there and chose to push two fingers down right on the joint till you howled for him to stop. You threw your head back against the beam, swallowing back the threats and vile insults you wanted so bitterly to scream at him. "Ok fine, Fuck! I'm not, ok!?" Gog if it was fucking broken you were going out for blood as the valiant retribution you'd deserve. His jaw slacked with his grip as it evaporated from your wrist and instead moved to your forearm to avoid the swelling, bruising joint.

"Good. Now stop lying about those other things and we'll be even, right?" he stated as you jerked your arm away from him and chose to let it rest safely on his shoulder, out of his actual reach. Seeming pleased with your surrender he moved his hands to grip your waist and push off the support beam. You almost fell back but hurriedly threw your uninjured other arm around his neck before you could fall.

You felt your anger rising and your patience eroding away till you knew that your concentration would be blown. This time, this time, he had won and sufficiently screwed your nerves over to the point that you were about to properly flip your shit with extremely horrid consequence to be expected. The thing was, you were highly aware that this was exactly what he had initially aimed to invoke in you and that alone only add to the supreme intolerance threatening heavy to exceed your limits. Sometimes you had to admit that he knew you better than you knew him.

He adjusted his hold of you, bolstering your hips and shifting your weight with a groan as you pushed against his chest. Right about now you didn't care if he dropped you due to your struggling, you wanted as far away from him as possible before you lost your cool and attacked blindly out of anger without much extensive consideration. Except he seemed all too happy to haul your infuriated Strider ass about three more feet before you finally yelled at him through your teeth.

"Put me down!" he pulled the side of his lip up in the slightest smirk, ignoring you and continuing on. You hurriedly blinked and restrained yourself from just plain slapping him across the face. Which you wanted to do. Really bad. As in a completely bitchy bitch slap that sent those ridiculous pointy shades from his face, thus sending them hurtling across the room. Not that you would ever do that to your respected elder.

You would, however, do something more along the lines of finally going into stage two of flipping the fuck out and boxing his ears with your palms in a definitively iniquitous and completely uncalled for move. A substantially unfair maneuver that made his firm grip on your thighs loosen enough for you to push backwards and fall, yet again, from his hold. When you landing flat on your ass with a satisfied thump you looked up to see him holding one side of his head in a hand while the other had shot out and gripped one strut beam for support.

"Not cool, Dave. Completely cheap move." He groaned popping his neck and glowering down at you as you hurriedly flicked your unshielded gaze to the ladder that you lead to the landings and roof above you. In that case, you quickly stood up, brushing the dried cement dust from the seat of your black jeans and decidedly striding to the ladder. Once your hand had gripped the first rug and you were just about to swing your weight up to begin the ascend when a hand caught your forearm.

"Don't forget my tachi." He instructed, giving you a snide yet crisp pat on the shoulder before swinging down to the next landing feet below you. Asshole. "Right, right…" you trailed off shaking your head and tightening your grip on the ladder rug before continuing your ascent still nursing your other wrist. To your surprise the rusty ladder wasn't the least bit creaky, yet never the less it always made you slightly nervous climbing its seemingly precarious structure. However this time, with stewing anger fueling your movements, you made swift work of it and soon stepped up onto the sweltering tar surface of your undesirable destination with feigned "Yay." of ardor. Like there was anyone around to hear you grumble.

"One Tachi blade, still smoldering from the bravura fucking grasp of one such insufferable prickish Strider and all his ironic anime grandiose." You groaned while stooping over to retrieve the sword before twirling it expertly in your opposite hand. Hell yeah you could use your left with as equally master skill as your right whom was otherwise occupied with horrid pain, bruising, and swelling that was attributed as well as caused by the overly forceful strike of one such blade which you held firmly in its brothers grasp.

"One kick ass Katana whose unreservedly substantial aura of supreme awesomeness is attributed by contagious infection via absolutely non insufferably prickish Strider." You added swopping down to then grab the hilt of your katana in a slightly uncomfortable spreading of the grasp of your fingers. You then turned a 360, scanning for your shades and returning your gaze to the ladder without product. He wouldn't dare.

"Bro! Did you take my shades?" you yelled down from over the side of the roof without your sibling in question present in your field of vision. But you knew he was watching or listening somewhere. "Bro!" you called down again after receiving no answer from the first howl. "And one undeniably unendurable asshole whom the exceptionally cooler Dave Strider, whose splendid poise and prowess far exceeds that of the lesser douche bag." You squinted up at the blistering Texas sun with an annoyed rolling of the crimson eyes before dropping your katana to the roof with a clatter and then wielding the tachi threateningly as it glinted at you in the sun receding rays.

Without a second thought threw the blade with all you're the force you could muster ; watching it spin end over end till it was nano seconds from striking the ground and, as you had tediously calculated, bury itself in the softer tar at the bottom of the tower you presently stood at the summit of in a manner that which would flawlessly suit any action flick silver screen. Except it never did. A gloved hand shot out from the safety of the less heated shadows shot out and snatched it from the air in expertise flaunting skill. Asshole.

You watched blazingly as he sauntered from his retreat where the sweltering rays weren't beating down upon any pitiful creature that dare deem itself living and flick you shades from his back pocket. "A fair trade between the ' exceptionally cooler Dave Strider' and the 'undeniably unendurable asshole' , right?" he called up to you before dropping the aviators at his feet and turning on his heel to stride confidently towards the deceivingly uninteresting rusty door that led inside. Asshole. You ground your teeth, mortifyingly retrieving your katana and mounting the descent via stairs in one infuriatingly fluid movement.

For a moment you had forgotten your wrist and hissed in pain as it protested your climbing. But the pain felt good to your numbed senses and only intensified as your feet finally fit the tar below. But you ignored it to the best of your abilities, stomping purposely toward the door after snatching up your shades and then swinging it open with too much force. Once you'd exceeded the threshold and felt the rush of AC hit you in the face, you slammed it with equally as unnecessary force that echoed through the room.

With malice you stood inhaling the scent of motor oil, metal shavings, that slight chemical scent, and the ever present odor of lofty musk that was the upstairs workshop. In one corner on a lone table sat that creepyass Sawtooth brobot that that equally as weird carbon copy of your brother had given to him. That Dirk kid, who you kept your cool around but still scared the living shit out of you more so than the friend he had who looked exactly like a guy Jade with an annoying accent. Which was why you moved on, erasing all those thoughts from your head and glancing at the dimmed overhead fluorescents, the organized tools, the mini fridge, the boom box, a random torchlight, the sink, a can of motor oil, not Sawtooth and his menacing cloak, an uninteresting pile of magazines, a pizza box-

Anything that wasn't the door. You flicked on your shades, tossed your katana on a separate table littered with coke cans and various tools and composed yourself in one strained sigh. You walked around the table and moved to open the second door you knew would lead to a hallway that would thus usher you to the kitchen if you descended a short flight of stairs; which was exactly what you did. What you saw almost made your jaw drop.

"John, huh?" he asked coolly leaning ever so more forward as your best bro replied with a shaky and intimidated "Y-yeah?" you glowered at his back while your hands tightened into fists. "Well John-" until you interrupted his intimation with the most intensified way of saying his nickname in the English language. "Bro." you watched that subtle way his muscle tensed in his back and how Cal, whom you had somehow neglected to notice, gave you a lunatic's grin ad wink.

For some reason, you knew he would back off; leave John alone and back down from terrorizing him. Because John was yours and now that he had definitively confirmed that he knew messing with him would be messing with you. So you weren't surprised when he turned around and fashioned his concealed gaze on you. But you were, none the less, blatantly stunned when his jaw twitched and he crudely snatched your shades from your face with a concealed tone only you knew to be malice oozing.

"If John here knows then who are you to hide from, little man?" So this was a new dépêche for you. That he was now aware not only of what you resisted to feel towards Egderp but also that he knew that that certain derp was conscious of both your ascetic secrets. This was quite the mortifying revelation for you. The status quo had suddenly and without a doubt changed without your certain notice and now you were left to decipher the aftermath.

Like Bro leaving without another word or you snapping at and taking your anger over this whole entire ordeal out on John. "You asked him about his fucking eyes didn't you, John?" To which he reacted to bizarre to that you momentarily questioned his insanity. Something so blindly unpredicted that for the slightest blip in time, Dave Strider hadn't the faintest idea what to do. An act that with seconds to spare you grasped your complete knowledge of and thus became a creditable expert in all things Egbert pleasure.


	4. Discuss Inevitable Discussions

Perplexed and confounded. You could count the sporadic times those two absurdly similar emotions had embarrassingly reared their symbolically ugly head on one hand. On a few choice fingers, even. Yet standing out here, where everything among the solo silence was somehow warped around the evident white void.

The silence terrified you.

"J-john…?" you whispered tentatively into the severe annulled of tranquility while your hands tightened into fists deep within your borrowed coat. The familiar scent of him lingered upon the dark grey wool and clung despondently in your mind as you turned your puzzled gaze away from the white paved streets that echoed the piercing silence. It had felt almost wrong to break that sincere serenity.

How was it even possible that this practically corporeal peace existed? This silence that ebbed away all other covert noise and left the present bathed in snowy silence. Flakes continuously fell from the cloudy mask of sky to collect to the surface of the ground that by now must've harbored, at minimum, a foot of snow. Your breath floated in front of you in wisping clouds of vapor that were barely visible from behind the dark aviators that perched dependably on your mystified face.

Somehow, the sense of utter detachment from the remainder of the world left you in revolting nightmares of the void. A surreal feeling of déjà vu descended upon your hunched shoulders as the flakes did. That question—the solo beacon of doubt incepted into the recesses of your mind—surface momentarily. The game was over but your tragic concern wasn't.

Did everything return to 'normal' for the trolls as it did for you?

Every fiber in your being screamed, echoed, no. In fact the more rational fragment of your brain prayed it hadn't. It would leave him bloodless and murdered for public example. Or would the others keep his crimson secret? The doubt was a crushing wave of guilt that threatened to drag you under. Rose had lent you the secrets to his ancestor's cruel demise that you hoped more than anything wouldn't return.

Alas, as the Knight of Time, you knew history was always doomed to repeat itself.

"See! You gotta admit it's awesome, right? C'mon!" he called before locking an arm through yours and pulling you away from your thoughts with a jolting cry. As muffled as it was, he still heard it through his exhilaratingly euphoric high. You regretted losing your cool for that slightest, most marginal moment.

He stopped to turn and glance at your guilt ridden face. You hated bringing him down like this, disappointing him in ways only you could understand about him. Here he was introducing you to the first snow you'd ever witnessed in all your years and the only thing your atrabilious mind could dwell on was if Karkat had survived his own hemospectrumal rank.

"What's wrong?" he asked, lopping his arm through yours more tightly and searching your face for the cause of your previous distress. Indistinctly your eyes registered the almost imperceptibly light snowflakes landing crisply in his hair only to noiselessly melt away. The furry hem on the hood he wore had collected just as many frozen trophies in its warm fur.

One adroit flake fluttered past the wild tangle of his dark hair to assert itself on the rosy flesh of his cheek. He was oblivious to the infinitesimal flake just as opposing as you took immense attention to it. "Absolutely nothing…" you whisper, tilting your head and leaning forward slightly to press you lips the minute melted drop in his cheek.

A small whimper escaped his throat and his mitten covered hands tightened on your forearms. You felt him draw away with a gasp as you just as quickly took advantage of being so close to him. Your lips skimmed his with a light peck that swiftly turned into your tongue cunningly lifting across his lower lip. "Dave! We can't—well I mean the old hag across the street watches our house like a hawk so—"

Your hands left your pockets then to wrap around his waist and pull him against you. Securing a hold on the front of your coat kept the two of you grounded as your mouth captured his in a kiss so sweet you could practically feel yourself floating away into the overcast sky above. His moan of surrender was beautiful music to your frosty nipped ears, more so than the breath you stole when his mittens nonchalantly cupped your jaw.

"Let them. What they think doesn't matter." You breath against the warm skin of his neck, right below his ear. You felt the breathtaking shiver run through his body that was tightly pressed against yours. Warmth, pure and tangible, radiated from him in hypnotical waves that had your cheeks blushing even through the coldkissed scarlet that had already surfaced. For now anyway, all pervious thoughts that had any connection to Alternia whatsoever left your mind in a flourish of snowy flakes.

Your lips were back to his, gently at first before that familiar fire that startled you every time decided to cautiously warm your lust. Without warning he carefully reached up to slide your shades up by the wire frames and position on top of your head, out of the way. With the lack of your aviators getting in the way you were now fortunately able to move your head into a different angle.

Taking him by surprise you deepened the kiss by massaging soothing circles into his lower back and decidedly turning your mouth into a harder approach. The yelp that pushed up his throat was reward enough as he clasped his hands behind your neck. Slowly and surely without his notice your icy fingers found their way to the metallic zipper of his coat he had neglected to zip up thus spontaneously sparking an idea within you.

"Ah! What was that for?!" he shouts at you, accidently biting your bottom lip in the process. The false glower he directed at you was highly overrated for something as cunningly simply as pressing your freezing fingers to the soft, warm flesh of the area just shy of his navel. "Payback for being a derp." You grinned cleverly after his insincere glare slipped from his features.

"I'm not a derp!" he retorts with a furrowed eyebrow and teasing tone. You pursed your lips in a thin line before replying charismatically. "Whatever you say, Egderp." Your hold on his waist loosens as he took a step or two back to which your suspicious instincts were directly quipped. You watched him narrowly as he eyed you from behind his cloudy glasses still slightly foggy from your heated and labored breathing earlier.

"This is war, Strider." He growls in a tone you found you could scarcely believe was your John's voice seconds before a frozen ball of snow knocked your smirk from your face. When the hell did he…? "You're dead, John!" you yell as he ducks behind the oak in his front yard, hysterical laughter following him on his retreat. You swoop down agilely to scoop a handful of the icy snow from the ground just as another snowball whizzed past your right shoulder.

Your intense battle skills immediately kicked into high gear, presenting you with all the severe instructions of the art of war as if it was a needlessly monotonous tune stuck perpetually in your head. Block, shove, and counter for hand to hand combat, you thought as you restocked your icy ammunition and darted to the tree you knew John had decided was his formidable fort.

"Prank master!" he yells when you round the thick trunk of the tree only to put your effort into dodging three then four snowballs that would of plowed into your torso had you not been the skilled combatant you were. Or that Bro had raised you to be, per se. As if to underline that point, the sizable snowball that you chucked in his direction exploded in a storm of ice when it hit him squarely in the chest. You clutched your second snow grenade in your left hand as he recovered with a satisfying groan.

Against all reason you felt the marginal urge of laughter bubbling up in your throat and before you could control your complacent cool the amusing mirth you found rang in the crisply cold air. Another snowball hit you in the shoulder blade when a failed dodge came too late. His victory jeer was quickly muffled by a rewarding 'oof' when your remaining grenade clipped him in the ribcage just as he sent another of his missiles struck your side.

Jegus. How in Gog's name had he made that many fucking snowballs in such little time? Unless this entire incident was wholly premeditated. You could certainly understand his ecstatic attitude this morning when he'd drug you out of his perfectly comfortable bed only to shove a coat and knee high boots at you once your lethargic ass had sluggishly emerged in the kitchen where he was impatiently waiting. He must have planned your snowy demise and somehow though it wise to indulge you a redoubtable scuffle. One you were all too confident in winning.

You rushed forward just as he stood from retrieving another frozen bomb that no doubt had your name written on it. Your arms wrapped around his waist as you tackled him backwards with a jovial chortle. You both landed among the feathery snowdrift that had been sweep at the foot of the tree and that lightened your fall. His midsection hitched with sustained laughter meanwhile you fought off his efforts to remove your from his vicinity.

Rolling to the side after he supplied your face with a satisfying hit via his last remaining snowball you quickly called about a justified armistice. "Truce?" you grinned spitting snow from your mouth and using a shivering hand to dust the snow from your hair. You laid back gradually into the snowdrift and then leisurely relaxed back.

His head moved slightly to the side, just enough to glance up and stare at your face. An iceflake or two had collected on your eyes lashes thus melting from your heat and was now a tear shaped droplet clinging to your blond lashes. A few landed peacefully on your face and paled your freckled cheeks. Upon reflex you felt your hand moving to his and intertwined with his fingers. A relaxed sigh escaped your lips, creating a vaporous cloud that listlessly dispersed into the pleasantly wintry air.

You wondered what it was he was thinking about during your shared hiatus of tranquility. It was forthrightly the calmest and at earnest ease you'd ever felt since ending the game. Your muscles relaxed as you sank into the snow pillowed ground ignored that indistinct ringing in your ears from the lack of noise combating the hush.

"Dave?" your name was whispered into the passive air, almost as if he too understood the hesitance at breaking the serene silence. You acknowledged his question with a slight moan while you allowed your ruby irises to be cloaked behind your paled eyelids. You could hear the almost imperceptible breath he drew in as he stilled his words before continuing in a hushed tone. "Do you ever, y'know…think about what happened to the trolls?"

Your eyes remained closed yet behind them your crimson orbs were wildly attempting to make sense of his words. So he thought it too? Or moreover wondered about them and their wellbeing back on their home planet. If they had in fact gotten back. "Believe it or not I actually do miss Karkat and so does Jade, if she would admit it, that is. Jane said that she misses Calliope's advice and Rose is still trying to reach Kanaya but no real connection what with Pesterchum crashing. Not that I'm saying that that was Dirk's fault! I mean he tried a crack at the contacts data, right? I bet they're trying too. Karkat's friend; the hacker one. I bet he could—"

"John. Just—just stop." You choked out, feeling your own voice crack with the cry of agony you pushed down. Your clandestine eyes were still closed even when you felt his warm body shifting to lie on his side to look closer at you. He squeezed you hand reassuringly, a solidly visceral gesture that made you eyes gradually flutter open.

"I know I ramble, but I didn't mean too…" he trailed off as just your crimson eyes adjusted onto the unguarded surface of his oceanic blue ones. You face remained impassive as you parted your chaps lips to answer him and finish his sentence. Either of which might have just prepared this conflicted moment any easier for you, yet the veracity being you hadn't the faintest clue how to deal with the raw guilt eroding at your innards like acidic brine.

"No. I haven't talked to anyone about it anyway since…" since your little furious Alternian's had conjured an idea to invade all three of the sessions—the Null trolls, the Dead Cherubs, and then you guys—and thus spark a ghostly army that took down any living being in sight. Might have worked a bit better if you'd considered the dream bubbles and their inhabitants.

"—since the game ended." You finished, shaking all lingering thoughts from your psyche before they threatened to equivocate the more inner peace of your everyday thoughts. There was no need to dwell on your unanswered question. Even if he'd brought it up full circle. You licked your lips slowly before pursing them into a firm line that signified your defiance.

"No one? I figured you'd vent to Rose seeing how she's practically the physiatrist here." He whispered, tossing ideas and aimlessly picking at a faux onyx button on your coat. You glanced shyly up at his face wordlessly attempting to decipher beforehand how he might take what you had to say next.

"Well, I did ask Dirk about it once seeing how neither of our 'Bro's' don't remember a thing about it besides what I've told him." You added when he shifted uncomfortably with the tensed silence. It only made you wearier of what you'd said and how much you felt like you'd disappointed him, the other Strider, whom you vehemently were reminded of wasn't you brother. Technically.

"Aannndd…?" he asked after flicking the button once and then fidgeting with the hem. With an exasperated sigh the hand he wasn't clasping with his promptly darted to snatch his evidently impatient one from your coat and hold it tightly in your palm. "Aannndd it was awkward. Especially now that he and my actual brother are practically fuck buddies." You snapped before your virtually nonexistent polite tone could be retrieved from whatever crevice of your currently occupied mind it had crawled into.

He flinched at your angered voice, choosing then to tentatively pull his hand from your clutches. Your abandoned hand hung in the brusque atmosphere before you then let it fall to your chest, resting forlornly over your navel. You hadn't meant what you'd said nor had you intentionally wanted to hurt him again.

When you explained the mostly the entire SBURB situation to Bro, you tried vehemently to keep the immense detail of an alternate version of himself out of the equation. However he'd guessed without further ado. Unfortunately. Just as importune was your alternate self that was included in that tedious continuous loop. There was no way in Hell you'd consent to meeting that doppelganger like some jovial family fucking reunion. Nope.

"Well Jane and I get along fine." he shrugged looking away from you slightly embarrassed of the retort from you he'd caused. Your expression softened as you took your hand from his and moved to cup his jaw with a touch as feather light as the snow that continued to fall around you. "I didn't mean to snap. It's just not something I'm ready to discuss, I guess." You finally admitted when he turned his eyes on yours. Offering a shy smile you shifted your weight to allow him to lean aligned with you.

His head resting in the crook of your arm and body pressed against yours you wrapped an arm around his shoulders. You felt him take a breath without warning before just as quickly forfeiting the idea and using the collected air to sigh heavily. You thought it better not to pry, knowing full well he would soon give away the concern he had decided to drop.

"Do you think I should tell my Dad? I mean you explained everything to Bro. So shouldn't he know?" he continued the thought he had dismissed with a small gesture towards his house even though he knew full well his father wasn't even home presently. You knew exactly how he felt and furthermore was comforted only to some extent by knowing someone else was experiencing the same ordeal you'd previously faced.

"It's like he knows somehow. Or at least he has the tiniest idea about it but just can't fully remember what it is." He adds tilting his head up to gaze ingenuously at you from over the exaggerated frames of his glasses. You'd experienced just the same with your guardian. However yours had been on the verge of actually remembering and had already recalled a handful of insignificant details.

"I know what you mean but after I told Bro and he gradually believed me I wondered if he would have been better off not knowing. It wasn't like it ended all that well." You tightened your arm around his shoulders at the thought of the look on his face when you'd explained to him how Jack had killed him in place of Davesprite. The part that made it worst was that he'd dreamed the exact incident before you'd told him.

Breaking you from the flashback was John's concerned voice whispering despondently. "Yeah, but it feels like I'm lying to him every day. And he's forgotten things too." At that you tilted your head to the side to glance down at him and the apprehension shifting his features. "What do you mean 'forgotten'?" you questioned lightly while you aimlessly swirled at stray strand of his hair between your forefinger and thumb.

"Like yesterday he offered to make PB&J's for lunch like he had no idea how allergic I am to peanuts." He provided you with an example sounding exasperated enough to continue in a frustrated tone that was underlined with worry. "I had to show him my friggin' stock of Epi pens just to convince him…" you continuously rubbed his shoulder and down his forearm when he finished, offering whatever solace you had left for either of you.

Briefly you searched your mind, wondering if your guardian had displayed any absentminded symptoms yet your mind quickly drew a blank. It wasn't like they re-began tabula rasa but you had at least expected them to of awoken with some surreal knowledge of their SBURB past, however brief. You weren't entirely sure if Rose had yet to explain the events to her mother—or yours, you corrected—and frankly you wondered if it would be wise to ask. She could be rather touchy about the domestic familial subjects.

But you figured Mr. Egbert would be a whole different issue when it came to informing him of the game he participated in without a real say as to the neither outcome nor consequences. You vaguely wonder how the two of you could prove it if he didn't in fact believe the preposterous notion that was SBURB. Jane instantly came to mind as she was alternately John's father's mother as well as she was John's 'Nanna'. Coupled with any dreams or gut feelings he may be experiencing, you hoped would be enough to persuade him. If John decided to tell him that, is.

"I'll leave it up to you whether you tell him or not however whatever you choose, I'm with you."


	5. Transport The Transportilizer

You use your hip to nudge the paint chipped and dull door open that led to a room humming with the soothing sounds of machinery. Using your otherwise unoccupied arm to hold the door open you sauntered in. Hinting at the unpleasant scent of bleach and laundry detergent you wrinkle your nose disdainfully. Hopefully you could get this shit over and done with in time to watch Fruits Basket.

With ease you toss the laundry tote onto an unoccupied dryer and reached to open the lid of the washer beside it. Without much thought, your laundry as well as Bro's tumbles into the dark and bottomless pit that was the formidable washer machine's maw. Gog, were you bored.

You dig in your pocket for the spare change that is then inserted into the coin slots that bring the machine to life with a rhythmic humdrum thumping. You leave the basket there, knowing no one would screw with neither an everyday hamper nor the detergent you'd neglected to collect. Your thoughts were presently engaged with more pressing matters than worrying over a box of Tide.

Without another thought you turn back towards the door and exit at a hurried pace after giving the "DO NOT LEAVE LAUNDRY UNATTENDED" sign a reproachful smack. Taking a left you round the staircase and tilt your head up to give the mindboggling amount of stairs a salute of surrender. The elevator was much more suiting for your lazy bones.

Punching the illuminated up arrow and tapping your foot for the dull metal doors to slide open. In seconds they did as the creaky elevator came to a stop and the doors slid lethargically open to allow you access. Entering impatiently and hitting the buttons to your floor you choose a suitable wall to lean against. The dim fluorescents wink despondently at you while you adjust your shades aimlessly and pop your neck.

The sickening sound echoes in the small vessel along with the tone of your cell phone chiming in. You jump at the sudden noise yet never the less reach for your back pocket. You already knew who it'd be and exactly what they'd be asking. The whole laundry scenario had been picture perfect for a potential horror flick to not have the desperate girlfriend squeal into your ear about an axe murder.

"Yes my ever sweet darling?" you mock into the receiver, practically hearing his look of annoyance. A slight grin tugs at the corner of your lip as he answers in an irritated tone. "What?! Uh, nevermind. Listen, where are you? I've been waiting at Rose's for you for like—" you heard the pause in his rant that was no doubt his search for the wizardly wall hanging clock in your sisters kitchen above the stove.

You smile softly to yourself, guessing exactly where he was when you heard the indistinct clink of a teacup on adorning platter. Rose would never have her honey saturated tisane tea with something that wasn't freshly settled on a kitchen table with accompanying and quaint pastries. Sometimes your omniscientence was too potent.

"—twenty minutes! Will you hurry up! She's trying to make drink some herbal shit!" he finished with an exasperated groan. Faintly you heard that mentioned 'she' offer John a calming proverb and no doubt a steaming cup of Tisane with way too much honey. He'd wave it away and plop back into his seat dejectedly, you predicted even before you heard the sound of his chair scooting across the floor.

"Give me five, babe. I've pressing matters to attend to." You answer with a smirk finally creeping onto your features as the elevator doors slide open after coming to a grinding halt. Beginning your short walk down the deserted hall was accompanied by his astounded protest and your quailed snicker.

"Excuse me? 'Babe'? I am not a 'babe', Dave." He mockingly snaps while you turn the knob of your unlocked apartment door and shoulder your cell as you turn to close then lock it. "Alright, whatever you say, pumpkin." You mend sarcastically with a snort while you pass through the kitchen. You stop by the fridge to grab a coke, ushering the swords that tumble out back into the icebox and popping it open.

"Pumpkin?!" he asks exasperated. You knew he'd be theatrically pressing his hand against his chest and pretending to look offended. He'd wrestle back a grin but forfeit and let his bucktooth smile spread across his features. In the background you could Rose laugh softly, no doubt sipping her tea and watching with leisure amusement lighting her lavender eyes.

"I think that one becomes you, John." She mused much to his light disapproval. You tuned out their conversation that no doubt spawned after her snide comment and paused by the door that stood ajar in the hallway. You nudged it open with your converse clad foot and pressed your cell to your chest to muffle your next words.

"Go down and check the washer in thirty, will ya?" you say, poking your head into Bro's room and finding him sitting at his drawing table. He waves his hand dismissively at you with a mumbled agreement before returning to his sketch that was no doubt some nose bleed inducing yaoi. He used his incredible artistic skills for the enjoyment of every fangirl and otaku obsessed with Mangapark yet you knew it was more for personal gain.

You leave him be and instead turn towards your room not five feet down the hall. Taking a sip of your cola you bring the phone back to your ear just in time to hear John end a droned out –Ddddaaaaaavvvveeeeeeeeeeee. "You there?" he asks again. Walking through your open door and then closing it behind you with your hip you reply with a sigh. "Right here, cupcake."

"Oh my God, Dave. Would you quit that?" grabbing your light jacket from the doorknob of your closet you cross you room. You had an extreme plethora of stereotypical couple nicknames to chuck at him and you sincerely intended to do so until you ran out. These little distractions were just the beginning.

"Quit what, shnookums? Smothering you in my love?" you say in gaggingly sugar coated voice that shows just how bad your Texas drawl could really get. You yourself even groaned inwardly at the country fried brogue. Sweet lord.

"Ok, that's even worse." He answers and you just knew that adorable grin would be snuggly stretching his features. You throw you jacket over your shoulder and hook your finger in the hood to hold it there while you reply "I've got plenty worse, Moon Face." you wondered when he would begin to catch your references.

"Wow, yeah that's pretty bad. It actually sounds insulting. Like you just indirectly called me a butthead." He says through a muffled snickering. Not the reference you'd intended but never the less, you hadn't exactly thought of that. Oops.

"Sure thing, Soggy Muff." You add absently while sauntering to the transportalizer. It hummed reassuringly and glowed faintly with the spirograph insignia. John usually pushed his bed overtop of it to hid it from his father whom had been a bit suspicious at the sudden remolding effort his son had put forth. He was just lucky the Alchemizer or Tote Lethem was no longer there nor the amounting tiers that had been added to his home during the game. That might not have been so easy to hide, now would it?

"Seriously, Soggy Muff?" he answers after containing his laughter. You could sense the skeptical look descending onto Rose's features as she began to understand your farcical reference. To be honest you were rather pleased she had read . The whimsical ideals and childlike entertainment didn't seem like the Lalonde's type of preference even as a youngster.

"Anything for you, Zanzibar Buck-Buck McFate." You snicker before hanging up abruptly. If she heard, you were certain that that outlandish 'petname' would confirm her suspicions. You take a long haul from your lukewarm cola before letting it aside on a turntable strewn with other Striderly artifacts. Returning your cell to the back pocket of your red skinnies you pull on the jacket hurriedly. Slipping your thumbs through the wholes you'd cut into the hem of the sleeves you moved onto the transportalizer.

Immediately you brought about the image of Rose's room and all the homey sensations you associated with it. Her passive-aggressively disorderly room complete with cast about knitted articles and varies tools of the yarny trade. It was where she escaped the smothering affection of her mother in numerous tomes of psychological informatics even though she now shared the house with Roxy as well. She would play her violin just to annoy her, she'd admitted.

A small smile warmed your face as you felt the heated rush of air and flash of green that told you your destination was well in sight. You shoved your hands in your jacket pockets and stepped from atop her transportalizer and tread across the soft lavender carpet. You kicked aside her Fluthlu plushie and glanced solemnly out the large window to your left. Her door awaited you ajar and after exciting her room your attention was flagged by persistent voice that hissed at you from the living room.

"pppstttt, Davstri!" you turned your head toward the ottoman, waiting for your crimson eyes to adjust in the dim room before making out the disgruntled outline of Rose's ectomother. You couldn't help but like Roxy as she reminded you of your sister in some things she did, no matter if Rose wouldn't admit it. "You gotta help me out. Rosie-cheeks has got me under strict soberation, here." She slurred pointing her finger towards the kitchen and motioning with her other hand towards your position standing by the couch.

You weren't even sure if 'soberation' was a word yet caught her meaning. You knew Rose had definitively removed all the alcohol from the house and left the in-home bar looking miserably desolate. It was for the better; you'd agreed and had affected her actual mother as well.

Faintly your mind wondered to a persistently nagging issue that had yet to cease egging you. The Lalonde's had all moved in together, so why had you been the one to say no about Dirk and his brother moving in? Technically, it was their house too.

"Heelloooooo? Anyone home?" she asks, breaking you from your thoughts and causing you to snap your head back in her direction. Sprawled on the couch with Vodka Mutini purring affectionately in her lap, she waved for your attention. "You check the laundry hamper?" you ask ironically, raising an eyebrow and suspecting Rose's hiding place. She wouldn't have gotten rid of it all, you knew as any weaning effort was to proceed with success.

"Uh, is that where she hides it?" she answers with the light sparking in her pink eyes as she sits up swiftly. You shrug holding an index to your lips and winking even though she wouldn't be able to see through your shades. Gathering Mutini in her arms you watch as she stands from the couch and flicks off the TV that had previously been playing reruns of Doctor Who. Good. The Odds had always freaked you out.

"You and me are gonna get covert with this black ops shit. Yeah, real secret. Like straight up internal government affairs and wired agents in suits. You already got the shades for it, Strider." She whispers with a wink and sly grin. You continue towards the kitchen as she sneaks off with Mutie bundled in her scarf. You doubted she'd rat you out to Rose once she found the stash of alcohol even though you knew your ingenious sister would almost certainly put two and two together.

"Miss me, Sunny Jim?" you ask upon entering the kitchen and seeing John and Rose sitting at the table. Or more so Rose was. She sat calmly sipping her tea whereas your Egderp was standing by the sink, lowering his emptied glass into the porcelain with a clink. His face lit when he turned to find you standing in the threshold just as Rose had to offer the punch line to your joke.

"Really David, how many more Seuss references must we endure?" you flick your eyes to hers as the corners of your mouth upturn in an approving smirk. You lick your lips and answer sarcastically, much to her amusement. "Is there a problem, Mrs. McCave?" she sets her tea down with a smug grin and laughs softly to herself at your bluffing.

"Sorry for the wait." You add turning towards John as he ecstatically moves to embrace you. Gog, you missed him too much, even if it had only been a week or two since you'd last seen his euphoric bucktoothed grin and generally jovial atmosphere that was terminally contagious. You sink into him as his arms tighten around your neck and you move to clasp yours around his waist.

His unequivocal effect on you never ceased to astound your senses and quiet your amounting distresses. You bury your face in the susceptible flesh of his neck and drink in his exceptionally unique essence. He shivered slightly when you fondly nuzzled into the warm presence of neck and soothingly stroked his back. His body substantially relaxed in alleviated ease against you with your consoling efforts.

You could tell he'd been apprehensively wound with anxious nerves and frazzled emotions over his previous decision. It hadn't taken him a significantly extended time to come to terms with telling his father about SBRUB, yet even so the toll it was wrecking on him was evident. You only wondered how he'd even begin to tell his father he was gay.

"I missed you…" he quietly breathes into your ear serenely while balling the fabric of your jacket collar in his fist. You don't answer, knowing full well he'd comprehend your unspoken agreement through your allegorical actions. With a deep sigh you tilt your head to tenderly press your lips against his neck, right over the constellation of light freckles you loved.

You feel him pulling away tentatively and with a bit of hesitance that perplexed you. Was he embarrassed to show how he felt around Rose? You sincerely doubted she minded. If anything you were weary to display your affection as to do hurt her. She may not share her mind, but you were painfully aware of how much she missed Kanaya. And how you missed her silently exiting the kitchen to give you two privacy.

"Um, so Jane and her dad are supposed to come to my house after I go to theirs and help explain the situation." He says, his blushing face irresistible inches from yours. He reaches up to remove your shades with one trembling hand that gradually comes to grasp the wire frames between forefinger and thumb. You neither flinch nor pull away as he gently pulls them from your face and clutches them in his hand.

Taking a breath he searches your crimson irises for the reassurance you offered him there. "Jane's supposed to be telling her dad about now…so they'll be at my house to pick….um to get Rose's spare transportalizer…so…we should probably get to the lab…" he trails off as you progressively lean down to connect your lips to his tentatively. He responds slowly by sucking at your bottom lip and wrapping his arms around your neck again.

You pull him closer and ran your hands down his sides. When he shivered from your touch you took the liberty of sweetening the sugar coated kiss. It was different than the heated makeouts you'd had before; this time being slow and gentle. It was a tenderly pleasant and warm sensation the seeped through you with languid viscosity. His lips were pleasingly soft and tasted slightly of the tisane tea he'd no doubt tried yet disliked.

When you touched your forehead to his and gave a pleased moan of gratification your mind wondered. You opened your eyes scarcely wide enough to watch the small smile slip onto his lips and the faint blush on his cheeks subside. Your lips parted slightly with a fresh realization breaking crisply through your mind. The words echoed deafeningly inside your skull, bouncing around till you breathed them out in a tender sigh of release.

"I love you…"

His eyes opened and widen substantially when he heard you. Drawing away you watched in stunned silence as his oceanic eyes searched your face. The grin on your lips fell away just as he blinked back at you shock. Oh gog, had you screwed up by saying that?

"You do?" he asks in a tiny voice you struggle to hear through the thrumming beat of your heart reverberating in your ears. You could feel the blood rushing to your face just as he moved his hands to cup your cheeks. You close your eyes, mortified and try to pull away from him yet he persisted in saying.

"Wait! Why didn't you say anything sooner?" he bits his lip and pauses as you turn back to him. Your hands move from his waist and instead hook in his belt loops absentmindedly while he impatiently draws in a breath to continue.

"I mean, well…I…I wanted to say it first…" You hear him mumble. He most of been braver than you because as he said it, he wasn't embarrassed to look you in the eye. He'd removed your shades, slowly yet without the tentative grace he used to utilize. A part of you still squirmed inwardly at the thought of him seeing you, yet now that tiny voice had been stifled. Besides, you'd just admitted what you were always terrified he would see in your eyes.

"I confess my boyhood crush to you and all you say in return is a sappy li—" he'd cut you off indefinitely when he'd crushed his mouth back to yours with a gasping breath. You felt his fingers tangling in your blonde hair when your shades clattered to the tiles. Your fists tightened in shirt and draw him closer as he reaches on his tip-toes to kiss you, hard.

"J-john…" you stutter when he pulls away for a breath as well as to attack at deeper angle. His head tilted to the side and mouth parted your lips when his tongue darted inside past your lips. Jegus fuck, if you'd have known how heated confessing to him would have made him then you would have said it ages ago.

You stumbled back slightly when he presses further, taking you by surprise. He broke away only to catch his breath and solidly plant his palms against your chest. He shoved you back with a grunt and was rewarded when you raised an eyebrow, astonished. John was never the one to be pushy and quite frankly you somehow found yourself enjoying him taking control. Honestly, it was kind of adorable.

Without your notice at first, the edge of the counter connected with the small of your back. His shaking hands gripped the edge and caged you in as he swiftly pushed his mouth back over yours. Naturally, your lips molded to his when you bent down slightly so he wouldn't have to reach up. To be honestly, at the moment you weren't sure if there was an all divine otaku god watching, but you prayed he wasn't. Your uke was getting seme.

"Jane contacted your cellphone John. She's convinced her father to drive to your home however as I'm elated you've found new resolve in your relationship," Rose pauses at that point and flicks her eyes between the two of you. Fuck, when had she even come in? "You need to get to the Skialab for the transportalizer." She finishes with a curt nod that is followed by a short sigh.

"I, um, I mean—yeah sure. Thanks for, um, answering her call." He stutters or maybe you should say 'blurts'? You held your defiant little smirk well in place as Rose's softly lavender eyes meet yours with a wink. Nifty, that broad was.

Her gaze then flicks to John when he promptly moves away from the compromising position he'd just been caught in. You couldn't help but let a small grin spread across you features as his cheeks redden with embarrassment. He bits his lip and shifts his awkward gaze to the window above the kitchen sink.

The landscape beyond those glass panes was as familiar as it was strange. You weren't entirely sure if you could ever become accustomed to living in the middle of nowhere opposed to the busting city you were used to. The modern and ecologically self-sustaining home was promptly located in the New York treeline where conifers swept the border of the grassy yard under a thick veil of moss and pine needles.

The silence would be what took time to get used to. The desolate isolation, however, was already a welcomed feeling for you. Your life in Houston was spent without a waking moment where you weren't in the company of some random pedestrian yet all the faces were unfamiliar. A city of people yet you were as secluded as a hiker in the forest. You figured Harley and that British guy was worse off seeing how they had their own gog damn island.

"Where's Rox?" you randomly found yourself blurting just as Rose turned on her heel to leave. Your eyes had flicked to the half emptied bottle of liquor loosely clutched in her hand. She narrows her eyes at you darkly and purses her lips in disapproval. "Roxanne is sleeping off a stupor. Thank you for your concern." She snaps before exiting without a second to spare. You hoped you hadn't unset her too greatly. She had enough to worry about with the rest of her family much less you screwing things over.

"What was that about?" John asks with genuine concern plaguing his tone. You turn to watch him stoop to snatch your shades from the floor before reaching your hand out for him to hand them over. He obediently places them in your palm and listens perplexed as your answer. "She not too happy with me because I just so happened to help Roxy out with something."

Even though he hadn't the faintest clue what you meant, he didn't question you further. You adjusted the wire frames on your face and felt that reassuring comfort sink in from knowing your eyes were shaded. It was merely habit now, wearing them to keep your crimson secret. Besides, you were fairly certain it wasn't even that big of a secret anymore.

"Should we get going to the lab now?" he asks alarmed by the blankly expressionless stare you'd been giving him. He fidgets awkwardly with the hem of his T-shirt before reaching for your hand. You meet him and find yourself puling him against you. The small noise of surprise that pushes its way from his throat is music to your ears. Your arms wrap around his waist as you bury your face in his neck with a deep sigh that prompts his to rub deep circles down your back.

"I love you." you whisper into the soft flesh of his neck and pull him closer. He leans into you with even breathing that doesn't seem to match his steady heartbeat. You breathe in his softly clean scent and find a genuine smile warming your features when he replies.

"I love you, too."


	6. Sharing Tea With Rose

Your name is Rose Lalonde and currently, if not more than ever, you were regretting allowing Roxy move in with you. She was excessively loud and pestered you incessantly over matters merely trivial in your spectrum of things. Drinking was her downfall as well as being too…clingy. She made you uncertainly edgy on instances and could, above anyone else, irk you irrationally. You'd never been to well off dealing with matters of the irrational sorts, save for your psychiatric intuitive.

However even that served a rational purpose in your mind to which she apparently lacked insight in. You pinch your puckered brow between your index and thumb and squeeze your eyes closed. Ugh…the migraine you were growing. It was terminally tedious at the least.

"Oh, come on, Rosie-cheeks." She slurred with obvious inebriation while patting your cheek definitively that clearly lacked any 'rosie' sheen. How she'd stumbled upon the alcohol in your especially clandestine hiding spot was above you. Unless someone had let slip its top-secret and surreptitious locale. Let the theoretical cat out of the hypothetical bag. Slipped the conjectural beans.

David fucking Strider.

"Roxy, please. I will assist you to your room only if in return you promise to thoroughly attempt to just sleep this off." You sigh taking her hand away and reaching to grab her elbow to steady her unstable wobbling. She dismisses your proposal with a haphazard wave with her opposing hand that still clutches the half emptied bottle sluggishly. It wasn't a challenge to quickly dart forward and snatch the bottle from her hand, much to her blatant astonishment.

"Whoa Rosie! You're faaasstt~" Then with a hand covering her mouth she proceeds to resort to a fit of hysterical laughter complete with nasty snorting. You press your lips into a firm line of disagreement while cunningly slipping the bottle on your dresser behind you. Why she had found your room of all places suitable to work off a stupor you couldn't fathom. Yet here she stood—rather unstably—with cheeks flushed and fuchsia eyes glassy from inebriation.

"Roxy." You address her sternly, the slight irritation you felt leaking into your voice. You wholly loathed the manner in which she choose to act when she become drunk like this. It was immature and utterly irresponsible on her part to be making a fool of herself like so. Traipsing around half lit without a care in the world. Oh, how it irked you so.

"Ah, I'll just chill here. You don't care right, Rosebud?" she says with a wink that grinds against your last nerve. And the way she always toyed with your name; it threatened to splinter that remaining nerve indefinitely. Yet she would be receiving the rejuvenating rest she required to gradually become sober again, no matter if she chose your room to do so. You hoped she'd have an irrevocably horrid hangover.

"Absolutely." You say through ground teeth while she plops back onto your mattress without further ado. Grinding your teeth in amounting irritation you then help her kick off her Rocket Dog sneakers. Chucking the pastel pink shoes aside your bookshelf you then reach back over to gesture to her scarf. She squints her eyes to focus of your hand before an indistinct lightbulb goes off in her head and she docile-like tosses you her striped lavender scarf.

Tossing the soft cashmere fabric to the foot of the bed you then grabbed the hem of the comforter and covered her. Giggling she sinks lower into the warming sheets and subsequently reaches her hand out to you. Curled in her hand is one of your two knitting needles to which you quickly snatch from her hand.

"Hey, hey now, Roseblossom. It was jabbing me in the side was all. You should reaallllyy clean up in he—" cutting her off you snarl with your seemingly infinite patience snapping under her strain. "Goodnight, Roxanne." The malice in your voice causes the sloppy grin to slip from her features just as you turn from her side. You knew, even through her drunken daze that she would realize the displeasing nuisance that she'd caused and how it had bashed your nerves indefinitely.

You grab the bottle of alcohol from your dresser and hastily slip from your room. Before you swiftly moved to close the door behind you with a surprisingly controlled quietness you flick the light off. Your hand locked around the doorknob and as you pulled it close you heard a faint whimper from inside. It made you freeze, one hand on the knob and the other still gripping the neck of the smooth glass bottle.

"Mom—I uh, R-rose?" You indistinctly heard her whisper through the cracked door. You turn slightly and poke your head inside the dim room lit only by the chasm of light that spilled in from the hallway fixtures. It cast eerie shadows across your room that you hadn't notice in years since your childhood as you'd matured from the age of being terrified of things that go bump in the night long ago. The tingeing fear in her quavering voice frightens you unexpectedly as you answer her with a small reply.

"Yes?" your eyes are progressively adjusting to the dimness in the room with certainty enough to see her shift in her bed covers. "It's just…" she tails off sucking a breath and leaving you in a skeptically edgy concern. You imagine she'd have good reason to call you back yet the seconds stretch with unearthed possibilities. You draw in a breath to tell her goodnight once more before she calls with anxiety.

"It's the Miles! What if…I didn't even see it coming last time…" she shouts before you could disappear down the hallway. You stop, brow furrowing in recognition of her fear as well as understanding as you come to comprehend more than one of her habits. The Miles. They were the cause for keeping her up raving well into the night as well as seeming to stick to your side like glue. Maybe even why she seemed weary of your sophisticated and intrepid mother. Not that you'd ever admit that.

"Roxy, the game has been over for some time now." You reassure her after abandoning the bottle outside the door. Without a second thought you moved into the room slowly as to not frighten her further. Reaching up one hand to push your blonde hair behind your ear you then sat down by her on the bed. She was sitting upright and clutching the covers to her chest urgently with a marginally panicked expression shifting across her features.

Glancing down at her arms you notice promptly how she was gripping the fabric to the area right above her navel. Was that where the Miles lethally penetrated her and subsequently dosed her lantern? Or so you'd heard her ramble, that is. In your prolifically honest opinion, a vast majority of her unintelligibility made nary a bit of literal sense to you.

Generally, it would be interjections on your lack of wizardly etiquette even after she'd gazed in glorious admiration upon the enormous warlock statue in your foyer. The behemoth hadn't been your idea nor would you have consented to his regally grandiose placement if you'd been there to object. Yet now the marble eyesore struck immeasurable approbation in the heart of all pink eyed overseers. Like the one whose wide eyes were fixated on yours with equal emotion.

"How do we know that, like, for sure though?" she questions in a tiny voice you strain to hear. It was one question you'd pushed deep into the recesses of your mind thereafter SBURB and it certainly was not a thought your conscious enjoyed to lightly entertain.

You tilt your head to the side slightly and addressed her tentatively, as if reassuring a young child. "We've all been returned to our Earth plane, have we not?" you reply gently reaching to cover her hand with yours. She neither objects nor pulls away to your relief as you comfort her further after she gives a curt nod of agreement.

"And all in intersecting timelines no less." You add with a sigh of reprieve that makes her eyes search your face in the dim light with reproach. She bites her lip slightly before pulling her hand away from yours promptly. The small smile of motherly reassurance that had been plastered to your features vanished and with it did you previous efforts it seemed.

"See! You just admitted it! The timelines and all that timey junk. Those were in the game." She says with apprehension vexing her panicked tone. The look in her eyes as they fix on yours; it shook you. She desperately needed your reassurance, even if the questions she was asking couldn't be entirely explained by you. Did you yourself doubt the game's ending?

"Roxy, I promise it has ended. We've all returned to our Earth just as I'm sure the other players of SBURB or SGRUB have." You caution her in a soft voice as your hands strokes down her arm gently. Her eyes darken as she looks away from your solace and replies fearfully. "So they're still alive? Cali and her brother and those trolls?"

You tilt you head slightly to bring her eyes back to you. Her question was genuine and had crossed your mind as well. You'd dealt with it and its flurry of devastating emotions it had brought on. There was no real manner in which one could answer this to fully ease her nerves. You wouldn't lie to her either.

"We cannot deny their existence. So yes, they may in fact be alive." You squeeze your eyes closed against the migraine that still quaked in your skull. In fact, it seemed to have worsened in magnitude with her barrage of questions and uncertainty. You could feel the weight shift in the bed as she sunk back against the pillows.

"Wonder how normal people would take it." She whispers into the dark without purpose. You didn't fully comprehend her and found yourself giving her complacency a questioning stare. "Pardon?" you ask as her silence stretches out into a solid minute. Her eyes flick to yours and continue her train of thought.

"Knowing for sure that there are aliens out there. Y'know, how'd those fancy scientist like to know that they should be more concerned about little grey men with candy corn horns." She snorts finally at ease and letting a small smile tug up the corners of her lips. You couldn't help but allow the slightest grin slip onto your face. You squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and reached down to pull the covers back around her. Her muscles had untensed with her newly restored calm just as yours had.

"And green cherubs with bowties and mad juju..." She adds lazily, her eyes fluttering closed and breathing becoming deeply even. You tucked the sheets under her just as your mother used to do for you when you were young and innocent enough for bedtime tales. "And God Cat's…" you hear her say indistinctly as you move to stand to your feet.

"Don't forget Becquerel." You whisper to her upon mention of the Earth's furry feline guardian. He wouldn't be complete without his canine counterpart you thought as you smoothed out your mauve skirt. You weren't even sure if she'd heard you but you couldn't help but add that.

You moved across the tranquil room and slipped through the door that stood ajar from your earlier exit. As you turned to close it behind you definitively you heard her whisper a nothing that brought a small smile to your face.

"And ecto-shenanigans…"

You stoop down to grab the bottle that had caused her state of drunkenness that you'd left sitting by the door. Righting yourself and securing a stray lock of blonde behind your ear you turn find yourself standing promptly defiant and blocking your way. Oh for god's sake…

"How ironic of her to say so." She snickers, putting a dainty hand to her mouth and bring your attention to her monochrome gaze. You knew she possessed the ability to effortlessly portray any emotion conceivable; yet expressing it through her eyes was nary a chance shy of impossible. Luckily, her acting skills were immaculate.

"I couldn't agree more." you answer, allowing your eyes to skim every inch of her without the slightest hesitance or embarrassment towards your rude display. She'd clothed herself in a sophisticated button up of pastel lavender with darted sides to show her slim figure and accent the shade of her lilac eyes. Adorning her neck were a simple thread of faultless pearls that matched the ones in her ears as well as the bracelet around her wrist.

Her black pencil skirt, nails, and lacquered lipstick seemed to throw off the classy and chic business women scheme. She was you. And you wouldn't make it a day without something black balancing your daily wear. Your eyes wondered back to hers. She'd patiently waited for you to finish your through inspection and now gazed languidly at your weary expression.

"I thought you were in Albany for a book signing?" you ask with a satisfied smirk that prompts her to return the gesture. You motion down the hall towards the foyer with a mockingly wide sweep of your arm before following her there. Her kitten heels clicked against the hardwood of the floor as the both of you entered the spacious room.

A mauve sofa and two accompanying loveseats adorned the bamboo floored room with high vaulted cathedral ceilings and floor to ceiling windows that stood just as high. You'd never thought the room flowed well together but rather seemed broken up between the outside nature and inside modish. Maybe it was towering wizard glaring as luck would have it from his pedestal at the corner of the room. The raised platform was intended for a piano or somesuch, yet was now home to a warlock. And eyesore, that is.

"Tea?" you ask her when she plops down on one of the loveseats with a groan. You were mildly amused by this sophisticated woman's silly habits. She kicks off her heels in a haphazard heap and folds her long legs under her before reaching up to remove both of her pearl earrings. She tosses them carelessly upon the coffee table along with the rest of her jewelry that land with a clatter on the glass surface.

"Absolutely. Something tisane with all the honey you have." She answers, running her fingers through her blonde bob and settling back against the cushions. Those couches were far from pleasant. They were more decorative than comfortable yet she seemed contented with them. Straight-laced must not be as cozy as perceived.

You walked around the small counter that had previously been a fully stocked bar with rows of alcohol shimmering in various bottles and forms. Previously. When Roxy had moved in the in-home bar had been the first thing to go. The only one that remained was the half emptied bottle you'd confiscated earlier. You'd decidedly replaced the booze in the minifridge with supplies for your evening tea. Like honey, you thought as you grabbed the glass container and pitcher of filtered spring water.

As the water heated in the kettle you'd fetched from the cabinet you set out the strainers about the tea cups on their saucers. The prepped supplies awaited the kettles shriek as you moved to the matching loveseat opposite of Roxy's mother. Or you. Or this ecto-shenanigan. How flattering.

"I see you've looked after my Roxanne." she says without meeting your eyes. Instead she gazes out the wall of windows to her left that lay view to a breathtaking waterfall with a backdrop of scenery that was more than picture perfect. To you though, it was missing something. You had to admit the psychedelic changes the Medium had brought to your home suited it more so than drab riverwater. Alas, the Land of Light and Rain was far gone, you reminded yourself.

"I suppose so. She has been busying herself with exclusively avoiding my mother which isn't necessarily complicated seeing as Mom's been utilizing her time in the lab." You absentmindedly mumble as your thoughts drift off. She'd moved to watch you when you had replied and now took her turn to examine you as you had her.

"You don't fare well with her, do you?" she'd said it as more of a statement than question, yet you still found yourself answering. You unclasped your hands from your lap, frowning at the redden crescents your nails had left and defend yourself with words the both of you knew were false.

"We get along fine, I suppose. However our interest conflict." She sighs heavily and rolls her lavender eyes in you direction. Her lips were pressed into a hard line just like yours and her eyebrow tilted up. It seemed that without your knowledge she'd suddenly become your psychiatrist. Great.

"And you think that incompatible personal preferences between the two of you somehow constitutes for your lack of communication?" she asks gesture to you and turning her piercing gaze on you. Grinding your teeth you look away and find yourself instead focusing on the crypt visible outside the windows. It was something that wasn't her accusing stare and pursed lips of disapproval.

You wanted to toss her argument back in her face. God did you want to call her a hypocrite. But this wasn't about her and Roxy. No this simple chit-chat had somehow morphed into a therapy session involving your oh so well intentioned mother.

"No. But I'll be damned that it certainly complicates things." You say through ground teeth while your stare on the mausoleum door intensifies. Here you were, having just one more of the handfuls of conversations you'd had with yourself and all you could do was glare at your dead cat's tome. She was even trying to help your relationship with your mother, you reasoned.

"Well hot damn." She chides in a light tone that is followed by a melodic chuckle that sounds like tiny bells. It makes you flick your eyes back to her and furrow your eyebrows. Her lips are upturned in a bemused sort of smile that seems to narrow her eyes cleverly. Your lips part to answer her with some condescending and witty comeback but she'd taken you by surprise.

"That's a tough problem, huh?" she says to you bluntly. You look away embarrassed. So that's what she was getting at? Making you feel angry because she'd called you out and accused this of being your fault. Just to get you flustered. Just to turn around and show you how big of a deal you were making such a tiny issue into. Just to shame you.

"Wow. You really are me, Lalonde." you say with a low whistle that wins her approval. She'd satisfied you just the same and more than won your consent. Your say-so was as supported by her quick draw than any other friend you'd had. She was impressive, that's for sure. Not to get egotistical and narcissistic since she was your ecto-self.

"Damn straight." She threatens you in a mocking tone while unfolding her legs from underneath her. She gives you chastising wink before collecting herself and softly padding over to the bar with her bare feet. Even her toes nails were a gothic shade of black with little purple skulls intricately painted to the tips.

Just as she moved around the bar the kettle began to shriek with steam erupting from it like a Hollywood Spielberg flick. Nifty broad. You watched her careful movements as she gripped the brushed nickel handle with an oven mitt and poured the boiling water through the strainers and into the teacups. She turns to set the kettle back onto the glass stovetop and succeeds in doing so without any mishap. Licking her lips she turns back to the cups waiting patiently on their saucers.

"Extra honey, please." you instruct her as she sets the strainers matted with dark herbal leaves aside. A small smiles plays at the corners of her lips as she rolls her sleeves up to her elbows and reaches for the honey jar. "And here I thought I was the only saucy bitch who preferred honey in her tisane." She jests as the golden amber pools into the cups from the wooden dowel.

"Far from it." You toss back straightening your skirt and watching her effortless balance the delicate teacups on their saucers as she offers you your tea. With a quaint smile of gratitude you take it from her and blow against the steam rising warmly from the invite brew. She watches for your approval, it seems as she sips hers without cooling it down.

You lick your lips and sip from the tea with a content smile. Her face then mirrors it as she too drinks from her tea. Seeming satisfied she sets the cup back upon the saucer with a slight clink of fine china and leaves it resting on the coffee table. Your eyes trail to the coffee table that holds a few old magazines, her tea, and John's iphone. You wondered when he'd left it there but considered it had been when he'd left the kitchen to converse with Dave. Apparently your ease dropping was frowned upon.

"Who might the boys in the kitchen making out be?" you choke on your tea and firmly press your hand over your mouth to keep from sputtering tisane across her blouse. She eyes you with amusement lighting her eyes as your realization comes up to par. She had to of come in through the kitchen to enter this room of the house. Had she been waiting till you had the perfect mouth full of tea to ask you that? Her cunning wit never ceased to amaze you.

"Did you interrupt them?" you ask setting your tea aside and clearing your throat promptly. She snorts and tosses her hand into the air. Rolling her eyes she then uses that hand to gesture towards the door behind you against the far wall that lead to the kitchen. Your cheeks blushed just thinking about it.

"Ugh God no. You don't come between lust like that. Even if that Strider boy looks like my Strider man—" you cut her off with a groan and press your palm to your temple. Somehow, up to this point, you had refrained from pondering over Roxy and Dirk's 'ancestors' as they'd deemed them. Incest had never appealed to you seeing how you were an only child. Or at least you'd thought you were until the game's little domestic surprise.

"Pardon, I'd forgotten he's your brother now." She says winking at you and seeming to read your mind. You resist a dark scowl and patiently wait as she draws in a breath to continue. God, you hoped she wouldn't ask you about the game. Consoling Roxy with all your solace had taken every bit of desire to chat about SBURB out of your system. No that you'd had any urge to do so in the first place.

"Speaking of familial distress," she pauses biting her lip in thought yet shaking away her doubts quickly. "May I meet your mother, Rose?" her question takes you off guard completely. Why the hell would she spring something like this on you so suddenly? Yes, it had been a persistently nagging issue at the back of your mind that you should introduce them. However you hadn't considered the feeling would be mutual for Roxy's mother.

You suck in a breath of chilling air that seems to of tensed with the atmosphere as it entered your lungs. Drumming your fingers absentmindedly on the arm rest of the chair you meet her lavender eyes with uncertainly. She had glimpsed the flicker of hesitance that flitted across your features and swiftly tried to mend her faux pas.

"Oh course, if you aren't comfortab—" You cut off her and find yourself continuing in a slightly strained voice. Your seemingly infinite patience could only stretch so far. "I think it would be delightful for you two to exchange greetings." You force a smile that feels drastically out of place plastered upon your features. Without a doubt, she had realized your pleasantries would extend no further. You simply weren't ready for this yet were grateful she understood.

"Thank you." she finishes with a small smile that reassures you. Reaching for her tea once more you feel her gaze flick to you. Was she playing another game? You tentatively thought due to the way she eyed you expectantly. Her eyes never cease to leave yours as she takes another dainty sip from here tea and returns the clinking cup back to the saucer.

"I understand that we haven't had time to…discuss each other." She lightly adds after pursing her lips into a thin line. You found yourself doing the same and quickly adverted your eyes. It was entirely true that you yourself possessed a supreme plethora of question to ask her yet her extended absences from this New York home had left you with a cold shoulder. Perhaps your eagerness to confer ideas about each other was mutual between the two of you.

"Would you like to—"

A prompt ringing cuts you off abruptly as John's cell phone comes to life with a hazy blue light. 'Janey;B' the screen read as the phone vibrated against the cool glass of the coffee table. You groan in frustration before shifting in your seat and reaching for the cell. Your fingers close around the blinking screen just as you glance over at your guest.

She'd fallen silent and now turned her attention to the floor to ceiling windows that made up the east wall. "Pardon me. Delicate business with the Crocker's." you explain hurriedly while letting the guilty apology leak into your voice. She acknowledges you with a slight nod and subsequently moves to stand. Collecting herself and smoothing out her skirt you watch in disappointment as she turns towards your room.

"Absolutely. I'll check in on my Roxy and be off, if you don't mind. Thank you for the tea. I genuinely hope we may have time to talk in the future."


	7. Ecto-Shenanigans

Book signings were something you’d always hated. It was wholly understandable that a fan might desire a signed copy of your novel and by the author her prestigious self no less. And yet, it was somewhat a nuisance for significant reasons equally as comprehendible. For instance, in place of taunting that Batterwitch with the upmost passive aggression you could have been reconnecting with your descended daughter.   
Blast the whole ordeal. This event had even gone relatively well. You had even managed to not black out from the paparazzi camera flashes. Besides, six volumes worth of agitation may have landed you in the ever so sparkling limelight with terminal consequences but the entirety of that horridly perilous endeavor was meant to be believed as concluded. Or so you hoped. And yet some infinitesimal spark remained tucked away in your resolve for revenge against the Baroness. Someone such as yourself absolutely deserved retribution that sweet.  
Oh well. Without grief you smothered that smoldering ember infinitely and crowned yourself victor over that Betty Bitch with brilliant tenacity. Thumbing a stray strand of blonde hair behind one ear you definitely switched your Audi into fifth gear and sped with brash velocity down the winding one lane roads of Rainbow Falls. You were deep in St. Lawrence before your complacent thoughts had jibbed into the willfully bothering pest they’d swiftly turned out to be.   
Or had it been Hamilton? It could have mostly certainly been there amongst the rich New York history that you’d begun fuming about your books. Mphm, why’d you’d decided to dive head first into the redundant journey of driving back from Albany had yet to enlighten you. Maybe you’d just found yourself craving after the divine isolation after the bustle of NY’s capital. Either way your dainty hands still tightened into white knuckles fists on the leather bound steering wheel at the thought of Condi.   
Bitch.  
Barring your wildly expansive thoughts you fluidly shifted gears once more and turned your attention back to the desolate winding road. It could be considered tranquil enough and was more than perfectly suited for an Ansel Adams shoot. Someone far better versed in photography might have been able to appreciate the scenery that surrounded your car in a collage of blurred foliage yet you’d always been one more dedicated to the benefits of literature.   
Ah, literature. And thus your thoughts circle back upon the Complacency of the Learned however not without a bit of resistance. Frowning deeply at your ever eluding mindset you hastily reach for your handbag positioned precariously atop a cardboard box of copies of your novels in the passenger seat. Without taking your lavender eyes from the road you slide to unlock the screen and enter the passcode without hesitation.   
‘S.E.E.R.’ you smirk, thumbing in 7337 and hearing the indistinct click that grants you access to your mobile device. The moderate Bluetooth earbud is next to evade your attention as you reach up to activate it whilst balancing your cell clutched in your palm on the steering wheel. The dial tone droned on and on with an unreasonably monotonous hum until a click gives way to a startlingly sober voice.   
“Heeyyy~Mom. On your way back?” she trills in a warbling falsetto that offset your nerves yet fuels your approval. So Rose had been fittingly carrying for your little Roxy whilst you were away tending to business and so it seemed you’d caught her on an abstemious break. A small smile finds its sneaking way onto your black lacquered lips and curves the dimples in your cheeks.   
“Yes, baby, I’m a few minutes out. Mind opening the gates for me?” you reply in a warm voice that must have had her atmosphere sultry with affection. She must be feeling pride too—that she was having a decent conversation with her ancestral mother—as her mind wasn’t muddled with the negative effects of the alcohol. Admittedly, it was far more pleasant than her usually tipsy slurs.   
“Mphm, sure but I think Rosie-wosie did earlier. Did cha get me anything?” Roxy adds thinking of the souvenirs you’d made a habit of bringing back to her as the popularity of your novels had increased and travels expanded. You weren’t spoiling her, now were you?   
“Ohhh I don’t know. I suppose you’ll have to wait and see.” You chide her lightheartedly, allowing a fitting amount of the genuine approval that stemmed from how proud of her soberness you found yourself to be. Absentmindedly, the digits of your right hand drummed slowly against the left of your side. It was a habit, you realized, feeling for that 2x3 prong’s fatal wounds. You wondered if David shared the feeling about a sword through his chest.  
“Ok well, I guess I see yah then, Mom.” She ends finding your brief silence unsettling. You hadn’t meant to seem cold, the opposite actually. You’d been under an amount of stress and with fleeting hope you figured she’d wholly understand. Taking the time to form a polite response you answer with that façade of happy mother without a flaw in the world. You were finally with your daughter and you’d be damned if you wouldn’t act like the strong woman legend had convinced her of.   
“Alright,” you say, biting your lip before adding a snippet that sent motherly warmth through your stressed body. “I love you, baby.” It dramatically lessened the fear you felt when your fingers played at the fabric clothing the area Condi’s trident had pierced you. Pre-SBURB—before you’d met and when she was just a descendant you were preparing for—you hadn’t exactly thought of it like that; that you’d be a mother figure.   
“Love you too.” Roxy crooned sincerely, leaving you tingling in warm affection. Perhaps you merely weren’t used to the idea of having someone to take care of and love as your own. That’s what she was though; your own. A smile plays at your lips and is maintained even after the dial tone clicks and you’re once again left with the idle thrumming of your car and your thoughts.  
Without your notice, your lead foot had begun to marginally ease off and release a strained groan that prompted its driver to shift down a gear. The vehicle was swiftly approaching the isolated entrance to your highly secluded home deep within the recesses of Rainbow Falls. The modern residence was ecologically self-sustaining and the crown jewel of dwelling establishments. To say you were proud would be a slight understatement.  
The headlight shone brightly upon the gleaming wrought iron gates that had been opened to permit passage to a paved drive you knew would run for another half mile until the dark ribbon stretched lazily to the mouth of the front garage. So she had prepared the gates for your arrival; how admirable you thought as your impetuous speed slowed to a casual crawl that lay out your turn into the driveway. Once off the main road your reckless speed exceeded that of the car dealer’s expectations and blew through the paved drive in record time.   
It was a good thing the expanse of the lengthy driveway had been accurately paved, you thought slyly, as you’d surely be spitting gravel what with the driving you were boldly taking on. Of course you would slow your wild speed as you neared the house. What kind of positive example would you be setting for your child if you tore into park like that?   
Speaking of which and accordingly so, you found yourself easing off the gas and merely coasting till the grandiose of your living establishment drifted into view. The pallid walls promptly rose up from the hills enveloping it as if was nestled cozily in the cleared meadow. It glistened thoroughly in the afternoon haze with a sheen of psychedelic mist from the constant waterfall that flowed through the underground facilities.   
Occasionally, in strong rays of noon sunlight, the entirety of the back deck could be frosted with the rainbows shimmering colors. It was certainly a sight to withhold, you agreed, as the roar of the Audi’s engine purred to a dull growl as it crawled over the bridge that crossed the brook of the lesser waterfall. The four pillars that upheld the main structure of the top complex came into the headlights glare as your car rolled into small ground level parking garage and pulled in next to another car.  
Home at last.  
As the key left the ignition with a click and the headlights that had swathed the cement alcove dimmed to dark you were left with nothing but your own silence. It was something like a blessing, you realized as the monitored temperature of the garage quickly cooled the engine of your car and the air conditioning condenser let drips echo through the desolate garage. You pinched the bridge of your nose and promptly inhaled a deep lung full of air.  
You needed a sweet sweet cup of tea. Something—anything—to calm your nerves. Again, you glanced down to see your hand hover over that certain area at your side where the deathly blow had been wrought. Only habit, you chided yourself as you reached over for your leather purse that sat atop the passenger seat. With a drawn out groan you swung the driver side door open and promptly collected yourself from the car with creaky joints that ached from the lengthy drive.   
You’d have Roxy fetch your suitcase later, you concluded as your kitten heels echoed clicks through the sealed garage while you made your merry way towards the mud room. Adjusting the strap of your purse and rolling your shoulders against the soreness of traveler’s muscles you quickly clicked up the stairs.   
The automatic door slide open and welcomed you into your home with a frigid embrace. Oh course the house wasn’t cold as monitors consistently kept it room temperature but the strict modernism of the fine white lines and cool atmosphere was unreasonably unpleasant. The house wasn’t exactly homey but it was—  
Pushing open the kitchen door you stopped silently in your heels couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow. It certainly wasn’t a colloquial thing to find guests in this home. Much less guests that insisted on making out on the kitchen appliances. So no tea, it seemed. So lovely to finally be back home.  
Your entrance didn’t come close to disturbing their heated session as you continued to the door opposite the one you’d entered. God, you hoped they didn’t fuck on your sparkling white table top, you thought as the less than discernible moans continued from the smaller boy with the dark hair. The other one was vaguely familiar what with those ridiculous aviators and that blonde hair. Best not to dwell upon it.  
Without their notice, you pushed open the kitchen door fluidly and exited quick on your heels. Once inside the safety of the foyer you tossed your purse onto the island counter and stopped to gather yourself. Putting a hand on your hip after smoothing down your black pencil skirt you ran a hand through your thick hair. All this running only for you to realize you couldn’t stay the night here.   
Your lavender eyes stared with an exhausted unfocused view out of the windows that ran the length of the spacious foyer. How had it your mind had managed to repress that solo memory? That minute yet crucial detail? You blamed your lack of sleep and a long days drive for not remaining as alert as usual.   
Rose’s mother still lived here just as her daughter and Roxy did. Rose stayed in her room that had once been Roxy’s during her time just as Rose’s mother slept in your room. Roxy had taken the guest room yet you—you hadn’t introduced yourself to the family exclusively. Your presence was rarely within the household as your own daughter was the only member who really had met you.   
That being said and so brusquely so, it didn’t feel quite right to impose upon them. Rose had her mother and a new sister. It wasn’t something you felt inclined to interrupt. Besides, your Roxanne would more than likely prefer that mom over you what with the ectobiology they shared. It took some getting used to; realizing that you were no longer in your own time, but that two ages had been merged into one.   
Maybe you’d drive back into town to stay at a motel or inn. Rose’s mother was occupying your bedroom no doubt as in reality it was hers. God, it was still a stab to the gut coming to terms with the fact that you were in their time. She must be aware of your presence from the nights you’d stayed there before you’d been completely aware of her, you reasoned; the smell of your perfume left upon her sheets, your clothing in her closet, and your toiletries in her bathroom.  
Perhaps you should introduce yourself to Rose’s mother just as your own daughter had done where you’d lacked the courage to do. In fact, you had yet to even meet Rose. 

 

“Don’t worry, you can still stay in my room.” She coolly says with a quirky sort of smile that plays cleverly across her features. Sweet lord, if your baby grew to look this attractive you’d likely hang yourself. She seemed to watch you take her in as well as await your reply to her suggestion.   
That fashionable buttonup dress swathed tightly around her slim body and wide hips while the added pink scarf hung from her neck well past the black belt that defined her waist. Her hair was styled perfectly with blonde bangs curled to the side to complete her chin length cut that more than resembled your daughters. But in her self she resembled your daughter. Even with a martini in hand with the precise number of preferred olives skewered on a toothpick to bob at the base of the glass.   
“I rarely sleep in that room anyhow. I’ve a set up in my lab I usually occupy.” She adds curtly whilst raising her glass to her black lacquered lips. Her tongue languidly licks away at the salt coated rim before she steals a quick sip of her martini. If you hadn’t known any better you’d dare say she was trying to seduce you.  
“Damn, if Rose grows into a woman like that…Mphm.” She says into the glass, taking an excessive haul from the martini as she rolls her eyes from you. So maybe she thought the same things as you. Or at least similar. Maybe that was a motherly ideal? Feeling protective of ones daughter.   
“Oh for god’s sake, honey. We’re adults; you don’t have to gawk at me. Go on, I’m just as interested in you as you are me.” she adds after she brings the glass smoothly from her lips. Averting your eyes and stealing a deep breath from the thin air was only marginally soothing to your nerves. In fact you found it necessary to pinch the bridge of your nose between you index and thumb. Christ, she was as assertive your daughter.  
“Mphm, Rose does that too.” She ends choosing to move past you and your discourteous silence with the same clicking heels as your own. Impressively, she navigated down the hall in those six inch pencil heels as well as you did. Against your better judgment you follow after her clicks as any fine guest would when applying the silent treatment.   
“Y’know, I did my own research during about you—I mean the future, kickass, knitting needle sporting, world’s gone to shit—you. Avenged victims of the Hilarocaust and surfed that High Chaplain of Interstellar War down a bloody waterfall right?” you were taken severely off guard and she didn’t seem to notice. You stopped following her and leaned heavily against the wall of the corridor you’d just walked down that led back to the foyer.   
She hears the cease of your kitten heels and turns on her own heels to confront you. “And you rebelled with that movie director; the one whose kid-clone is making out in the kitchen.” Your eyes are narrowed and teeth grinding in your mouth by the time she stops her tirade. A small smile sets upon her lips delicately as she eyes your irritation and sips from her glass.   
Was she mocking you with your victories? Because they’d eventually led to your death? You tilted your head to the side softly whilst absentmindedly thumbing a stray hair behind your ear. No, this seemed different. Only slightly, but still like she was commending you somehow on a job well done and admired.   
Perhaps she was testing you? Judging you based on what she knew of you and gauging whether you lived to expectations. Hell, she more than likely was factoring in your likeness to her daughter. You had to admit in her heels you’d have done quite the same alas more cleverly. Always more cleverly.   
“I find you rather…interesting, Ms. Lalonde.” You finally say, easing out of your silence in a manner that pleases her. In one movement from pushing that hair behind your ear you then move to crossing your arms over your chest fluidly. Mirroring hers, a small smile begins to bless your lips. It was respect well bargained.   
“Likewise, Ms. Lalonde.” She answers letting her smile slip into a grin when you offer her your hand. Her fuchsia eyes glance at your dainty hand before she rolls her eyes and grasps it graciously. You tense upon instinct when she pulls you into a tight embrace.   
The arm that you’d extended for her now was hooked around her waist loosely while her arms wrapped around your neck for the slightest moment as she rests her chin against your shoulder. Pulling away just as quickly she releases you to cup your astonished face in one hand as she balanced her martini in the other.  
“I’ll admit my relationship with Rose isn’t as warm as I’d like but don’t be tense with me like she is.” She says lightly, smiling shyly at you while your features shift from their surprise into their calmer façade of social approval. You wagered she thought her daughter had talked you into thinking she was some horrid mother and whip cracker.   
Your smile seemed to stretch tight across your features as you replied easily, “I haven’t had the fortune of meeting Rose as it is.” She was still close and you could smell the faint tinge of alcohol on her breath as she breathed softly. Her smile slipped off her features as she released you entirely and taking a step of distance between the two of you.   
“Please don’t mention this to Rose if and when you meet, by the way. I don’t think she’s yet comfortable with the idea of us chatting.” She says with all masks and facades evaporating from her face like fuchsia paper lanterns in a candles flame. Her thin frame leans back against the wall as she swirls the contents of her martini with the olive screwed toothpick.   
She looked as exhausted as you were, you realized occupying the place beside her and leaning you head back against the wall. You understood her now. She was a mother, just like you. As concerned for her daughter as she was, you could certainly relate.   
“I need to get to the lab.” She sighs glaring at her drink and clicking her manicured nails against the glass. “Come with me? After I finish my work with transportalizer equipment Crocker’s girl wants I could give you a tour…” you’re shaking your head softly before her suggestion could end. It was late and your baby was still waiting on her mother.  
“I stopped by to check on Roxy. I will accept the bedroom but the tour—” you pull your lips to the side in an apologetic sort of grin that doesn’t quite meet your lavender eyes. She understand, you gather as you straighten yourself from leaning against the wall and smooth your skirt.   
“Also, don’t mention the future, kickass, knitting needle sporting, world’s gone to shit me to my daughter. She’s read the history but I’d like to think she doesn’t completely know how cruel I am.” You add turning to face her in a standoffish manner. Your seriousness was accurately conveyed, you realized when she tipped her glass towards you nearly like a toast.   
You allow a pleasant smile to bloom on your black lacquered lips before you turn back towards the foyer purposely. Breathing deeply, you collect your thoughts as you emerge into the foyer and give the breathtaking scenery outside the floor to ceiling windows a cursory glance.   
The architecture of this establishment was absolutely divine and perfectly suited for what you’d planned to leave to your Roxy. That is, when you had been under fatal threat of her Imperious Condescension and only wished to ensure the safety of your race. You’d had the residence closely guarded, you faintly remembered, and stocked with everything she might need to survive and prosper.   
You had done well, you reminded yourself. She had survived.   
If you recalled the floor planning of the house correctly, the room that she would have more than likely chosen for herself would be straight down the hall to the right. Pink. That’s how you’d requested it was to be furnished without explanation. Just pink.   
“And ecto-shenanigans…” you come to a slow halt as her voice drifts lazily from the bedroom you’d deemed your destination. The girl your eyes set upon didn’t own the voice yet was as familiar as your own image. Granted that she was younger, that is.   
Rose hadn’t noticed you yet as you were still some feet away and swathed in the soft darkness of the hallway. You watched as she closed the door to the room she had just emerged from with a quiet purpose. Her movements were graceful, not unlike your own, yet fluid with purpose. Her hand remains on the doorknob as she closes her eyes to press her opposing hand to the surface of the door tenderly.  
As a kind smile lights her face she turns from the door to lean down and pick a long-necked bottle of alcohol from her feet. If she walked down this hallway, if she even turned around, she would see you. Of course you’d follow as her mother had asked you and keep the prior meeting a secret. But would she want to talk with you?  
“How ironic of her to say so.” You find yourself saying, quickly assembling a façade that entitled a snicker you brought your dainty hand to your mouth to mask. Her eyes had landed on you and widened considerably at the sight of you watching her. Now here you stood; still staring and deploying your immaculate acting skills. You’d picked up quite a degree of mastery when I came to fooling people with an innocent ploy. It was only now as she prepared herself to answer whilst her eyes trailed the length of you impiously…that you wondered if she would buy it.   
“I couldn’t agree more.”


	8. Inconveniently Gutsy

This extreme undertaking, this tactical mission, this massive task—this shit wasn’t going to work as smoothly as Rose had planned. Or so that was what you were thinking as Dave stood atop the dormant transportalizer, kicking his red converse at the smoothly flawless surface of the appliance. It lacked the distinctly cyan glow of the spirographic design and the faint machine-like hum. Never the less, its size and sheer weight certainly had you spectacle about its transportation.   
“Why can’t we just use yours to go to John’s house and give Crocker John’s transportalizer? Y’know have her dad drive it to their house after all this jazz is over with. Sure beats lugging this thing through space or whatever dimensional shit sham.” Dave suggests to Rose, looking pointedly at her and her mother. Rose doesn’t answer, only pulls her mouth to the side and glares distastefully at the inactive hulking device, mirroring her mother.   
Firstly, Mrs. Lalonde was a god damned bombshell and emanated thick waves of womanly authority, god-like self control, and the smoky hell bunny radiance of a wily temptress. You, Rose, and Dave had met her in the lab once Rose, oddly quiet, had led your party down the perplexing hallways and stairwells to the lab. You would of never been able to find the place and question why the top-notch secrecy. Maybe Mrs. Lalonde had something to hide about a femme fatale’s coquette affairs.   
So far, she’d yet to pay you too much attention, however she had given a snide and inappropriate remark about how much you looked like your father and what else on you looked like your father’s. You rather strongly wondered when she’d met your father and what had transpired. You also rather strongly wondered why she’d winked at Dave and his reddening face.   
“And how might Mr. Egbert go about his transporting concerns once his transportalizer has been otherwise reclaimed?” Rose’s mother asks as if talking to a classroom of students. She observes her pupils over the rim of her martini glass and flicks her eyes across the three of you as if searching for the correct answer. She has that answer, you assess, watching her swirl the olive in the bottom of the glass and lingering her eyes on Dave in particular.   
“Hell, I don’t know FedEx this shit to Washington? He could you this one as a replacement.” Dave supplies the seemingly correct answer, stepping from the transportalizer and glancing at the one adjacent to it that hummed and glowed with the mechanical signs of life. It wasn’t a bad idea, you concluded observing his movements as he squatted next to the quiescent transportalizer he’d just stepped from.  
“Maybe, yet what if outside forces discover this futuristic technology? I doubt one could ship a package as heavy and large as this without the company taking a look at the obscure contents for themselves.” Mrs. Lalonde answers, bringing the martini glass from her lips and folding her arms across her chest. She holds one forearm from her side and twists the slender stem of the glass between her ring and middle finger as she awaits further explanation.   
“Rose, dear, what do you suggest?” she asks, inclining her head to her daughter who had been unusually silent during the whole ordeal. She was more than likely tense about her mother being present, you assumed, and uncomfortable with Mrs. Lalonde’s assistance with the transportalizer. However another side of you questioned the possibility of a familial dispute between the Lalonde’s what with the tension.   
She must be asking her daughter this specifically. Maybe teasing a better solution from her that would kill more birds with less stones, you considered. Hell, you even wonder if Rose’s mother planned to unite the Crocker’s and Egbert’s under one roof as she had done with the Lalonde’s. It would certainly explain why she had asked the therapist in the room.   
“I think Dave’s idea would suit our needs and disagree with the complications that may arise in shipping. However, I do propose that the transportalizer be privately delivered to Washington via other means of transportation. Payment to the courier wouldn’t be a problem and more crucially it would eliminate prying eyes.” Rose replies tersely, never shifting her lavender eyes from the dormant transportalizer.   
“I suppose we could settle for that arrangement then. What do you think Mr. Egbert?” she seemed disappointed in Rose, you noticed as your eyes immediately meet her fuchsia gaze, a questionable decision. Her eyelids drupe over her roseate eyes lazily that reminded you of Marilyn Monroe’s signature pose and gave her a look of indolence. Jegus Grist she scared the shit out of you. What if Roxy turned out like this?  
“Uhm, I don’t mind if Jane has my transportalizer or,” here you gesture to the transportalizer Rose was still containing in a fierce staring match, “that you ship this one to me.” you finish, becoming uncomfortable with Mrs. Lalonde’s fixed gaze and quickly turning your eyes to Dave. He was still examining the machine, you noticed, but righted himself to fix his attention to you at the sound of your voice.   
“Fantastic. I’ll have your new transportalizer addressed as soon as possible.” Rose’s mother brusquely declares, turning on her heel and sashaying towards a wooden door with frosted glass that looked odd within the modern monochrome lab. Her kitten heels click across the tile as she meanders to the door and your eyes watch the fuchsia scarf swaying at her waist.  
“You kids have fun!” she calls over her shoulder before she receives the door and disappears inside. With her exodus your eyes flick to Rose who had apparently lost her staring match judging by the displeased pucker of her lips into a firm line and the slant of her eyebrows. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her usually soft lavender eyes shot daggers at the abnormal door her mother had departed through.   
The awkward silence was succinctly interrupted by the marimba ringtone of your cellphone ringing from your back pocket. Both sets of eyes—lavender and crimson—darted to you as you hastily reached to retrieve the device. The glow of the touch screen reflected in the lenses of your glasses as you slide the answer option.“It’s Jane.” You think you’d mumbled as you brought the cellphone to your ear.   
“Hey, Jane is everything alrig—” she interrupts, voice frantic and broken up from the horrible service you scarcely received in the lab. “John, dad and me are pulling into your driveway—” she had cut herself off to answer the ranting of her father that could distinctly be heard in the background. Her cellphone was no doubt pressed into her shirt as she replied, muffled, to her father. Something about calming down and trusting her that, yes, this was his father’s (Jane’s grandfather’s) house and that it was complicated.   
“Yes, I’m sure, ok! It’s complicated!” you heard as she brought the receiver back to her mouth. Dave was watching you with alarm while Rose had already assessed your shocked face and sprang into action. She was checking the stats on the transportalizer, you gathered as she crouched down to examine the touch screen at the base of the machine as Dave had been earlier.   
“John, are you home yet?—Dad, wait!” she hung up suddenly, leaving you to bring the phone from your ear and stare at the ‘call ended’ screen with a stunned look upon your face. You just as abruptly darted toward the transportalizer, hoping Rose’s evaluation of the workings was proper as you grabbed Dave’s hand and pulled him onto the level, illuminated surface with you.   
Immediately, you thought of your home. Of your father making numerous cakes ad nauseam, of the various harlequins positioned around your house, of the tire swing fixed to the maple tree it seemed you’d outgrown, of your Nana over the fireplace, and lastly, kissing Dave for the first time in your room. The last one you knew would be the memory Dave was using to transport himself to your house.  
The rush of heat and blinding light deposited the two of you in your room within nanoseconds. In fact, the instantaneous arrival threw off your balance and you found yourself falling back onto your bed. Dave landed opposite of you, flying backwards with more force than you had and stumbling back against the bureau near your door. Thank god you had remembered to move the transportalizer out from under your bed where you cleverly kept it hidden.   
Dave shakily righted himself, calling after you as you dashed passed his disheveled form and through your bedroom door. Even as you mounted the stairs straight away your ears caught the sound of a fist pounding on the door. Your shaking hand slid down the railing and as you swiftly descended the steps you looked over at your father exiting the kitchen. His eyes moved to you as you barreled down the landing and jumped the remaining two steps to the living room floor.   
“Jonathon!” he shouts, immediately pulling his thick eyebrows down in disapproval as you stopped short in front of him. Your hand extended in front of you, palms out to ward off his advancement towards the door. Or more importantly who was waiting behind that door. You could hear Mr. Crocker shouting behind the door just as distinctly as Jane trying to calm him. This certainly wasn’t going as smoothly as Rose as planned.  
“Just hang on a second, ok? Don’t answer the door, dad. I’ll get it!” you tell him, trying to sound reassuring and instead coming off as panicked as you felt. He was skeptical and kept glancing over your shoulder to the door. When he shakes his head tries to side step you for the door, it seems things only become worse.  
“John, what going on?” Dave asks, coming to a halt halfway down the stair when he spies your father. He curses under his breath, realizing how insane his presence would seem to Mr. Egbert. Rose, wide eyed, was behind him, dainty hand set upon the railing whilst the other covered her mouth. You’d always wondered why girls did that when they were surprised.   
“I don’t recall you asking me if your friends could come over. Who might you be?” your father directs the question to Dave and Rose, turning his eyes from you long enough for you to throw a hasty glance at the door. Jane’s dad wasn’t shouting anymore at least yet by the brim of a fedora visible in the frosted window on the door, he was still there.   
“I’m Peter, Peter Shepherd, and this is my sister Judy.” Dave says, indicating to first himself and then Rose. Her annoyance shows rather plainly on her face at that and you have quite a hard time not punching him. As if your father hadn’t seen ‘Jumanji’ in his life-time.   
“Seriously Dave?” you snap watching his open mouth attempting to form words his mind couldn’t produce. He closes his mouth and shrugs at you from the steps. So maybe this situation wasn’t exactly being handled as perfectly as you’d hoped and maybe it was time to explain.   
“I’m assuming you meant Dave and Rose from Houston and not Peter and Judy from ‘Jumanji’.” Your father says, observing the slight surprise on your face. So dad did listen to those rare rants about your friends and it being unfair they lived so far. Those had been…before the game though.  
“Would you like to explain to me how your pen pals from across the country are in the living room?” he furthers, crossing his arms over his broad chest and staring at you with skepticism that you knew would turn into disappointed irritation if you told him the truth. But you didn’t have a chance to explain to him as his attention snapped back to the front door. And here you had thought he’d nearly forgotten them.   
“And who is at the door?” he mutters under his breath, stepping around you and advancing toward the door. You shouted at him to wait and pulled at his arm till you wagered his patience had thinned to a thread yet he still reached to open the door. He clicked the bolt out of place (it was nearly nine in the evening) and turned the knob. As the door swung open you stepped back from him and watched as his face changed from irritation to shock.  
“Who…?” Your father trailed off, looking from Mr. Crocker to Jane and back again. Jane’s dad could have passed as your dad’s twin, you noted. Did her dad think you looked like his father? Did your dad think Jane looked like his mother?   
Jane was bundled in her charcoal grey pea coat with a cyan scarf wrapped around the collar as your eyes met. She was giving you an apologetic and sheepish smile that seemed stretched on her lips a little too tightly. The porch light was casting an eerie glow upon the two, you noted, and made the surreal scenario seem that much more incredulous. Clouds of vapor puffed from her mouth into the frigid air that wafted into the house from the open door and brought goosebumps on your arms.   
“Uhm this is a little inconvenient…” she says pausing when all eyes move to her. “Dad, this is John Egbert.”


	9. Prankster's Gambit

You weren’t getting out of this. Holey moley, would there be no amount of supremely gutsy parental persuasion that could possibly make John’s father and, somewhat more importantly, your father forget about this inconvenient meeting. You haven’t meant for this to happen. It was supposed to be something like a reunion! You were supposed to be the gumshoe that had sleuthed her way through all the ectobiological nonsense and weird plot shit to reunite the fated families once again.   
You’d reveal the mobster—the archetypical bad guy in this mystery—to be the fifteen mile car ride to the small suburb of Maple Valley that separated the predestined Egbert’s and Crocker’s. Being the intrepid detective you were, you (and your faithful sidekick) had planned a sting to outwit the forgetfulness of the fathers and restore peace to the world.   
However, via complex verbal ensnarement and untimely consequences, it seemed, your beautifully planned sting operation had been made. Damn that stern fatherly disapproval.   
“Jane!” your faithful sidekick hissed, gesturing subtly with his eyes between your father and his. ‘Do something!’ you wagered he was wildly thinking at you. Maybe, in this situation, it’d be wise to play dumb and let the sidekick to the talking. Hell no! You’d never let him take the blame for this truly inopportune and premature get-together. What kind of sleuth would you be if you left an innocent pedestrian to take the blame? Besides, the blame rested nowhere but your own hands. The blame couldn’t be thrust into John’s hands. The blame was yours and yours only. Damn that blame.   
Clearing your throat of the blame you fixed your eyes on Mr. Egbert and quickly assembled a response to ease the tension. He was staring at your father straight in the eyes—‘like a respectable man’, your father would say had he not been otherwise currently busy with a staring match. They weren’t even saying anything. Just staring. Maybe they were in shock.   
“Why don’t we go inside and John and I can do some explaining…?” it wasn’t supposed to be a question. Then again it wasn’t supposed to have ended up like this but there wasn’t an issue on earth or anywhere in the Incipisphere that you couldn’t handle, right?   
“Jane’s right, dad. And, ah, I’ll explain Rose and Dave’s visit as well.” John has your back, you realize, just as soundly and as faithfully as any sidekick. Or at least that was the impression you were under as he gently tugs on his father’s pristine white shirt sleeve as if encouraging him to draw his staring match to an unadorned close. And yet the two statues remained just that—stony figures that were as stubborn to move as they were oblivious to the outside world.   
Perhaps they were communicating via telepathy, you briefly waged. One father thinking forth fatherly thoughts to the other father and vise versa. Perhaps they were discussing Barbasol application techniques or the proper angel to tilt one’s fedora at a passing young lady. Just the usual mental communication topics that went unnoticed and unheard to watching bystanders. Telepathy. Dirk and Roxy did that occasionally. Or at least it seemed as if one fully understood what the other was thinking while in your presence on occasion.   
“Jonathon, would you mind taking your friend inside for a moment?” Mr. Egbert says sternly with the correct amount of fatherly grim firmness to queue him in to the guiding father to wayward son discussion they would be having later. Even though consequences and quite possible circumstances would be rather different ‘later’ and that perhaps now would be more suited for a familial chat if one was to beginning getting overly domestic.   
You were, in fact, quit certain that you would be receiving a similar talking to from your dad. Maybe Mr. Egbert would even team up with your father to unite in a round of stern fatherly disciplining in a x2 combo of ectobiological tag teaming. Boy, was your ass grass, so to speak.  
“Dad, no! Listen, my friends and I will explain everything.” John provides once more as you watch feebly from the backdrop. The rookie was taking the lead on this sting, you noted, and he, so far, seemed to hold his ground against the boss whilst you stood by idly. Proudly, you glanced at him with stern grandmotherly approval as his father breaks the staring match to give his son a cursory glance…  
…before his eyes moved to you. If you were to understand and completely comprehend all this ectobiological/weird plot shit, you were to realize that this was your…son? Ew, gross, you thought, being a Nanna without the age, wrinkles, and cookie baking charm. Or maybe you did have that last one, but still. Would he like you? Would he point and laugh along with your jokes with a son’s motherly admiration? Would it be weird to think about that? Of course it is Jane Crocker! Start taking action you sobbing familial romantic!  
You pushed your glasses up your nose quickly without thinking, thanking whatever god out there that the frigid air would keep you from wildly blushing. Speaking of, it was absolutely freezing out here! You’d nearly forgotten how cold the weather could be in Washington and how startling the crunch of snow could be when you shifted your weight from foot to foot awkwardly.   
“John, I’m sorry about this. I never meant to ruin our plans.” You say looking down and avoiding his father’s blank stare by setting your eyes on the small boy who stood just inside the Egbert home. He was looking at you too, you noticed, and practically begging you with those eyes of his to make shit happen. You could do that, now couldn’t you?  
You were not some crumb who would stand by idly obeying the law without taking drastic risk! If either Egbert had yet to pull a heater out on you and ask you to 23-skidoo then you might as well had been safe. It wouldn’t be too difficult to make light of this increasingly awkward situation and pull forth the household reunion from the clutches of ruin.   
“Can we stop acting like children on the playground and go inside for a chat?” you add a little more forcefully than you’d intentionally intended yet still acting on the moments bravery to turn this shindig around. Clearing your throat you firmly loop your elbow around your father’s arm and use your free hand to pat his shoulder reassuringly. As if he needed reassurance, you ventured to think. Why he had yet to say a word.   
“Come on!” you finish pulling him from his statue like state with the proper amount of force to encourage him to take a step over the threshold that Mr. Egbert and his son has since vacated with your last sentence. Mr. Egbert had taken a step back and opened the door wider as any polite gentleman presenting his home for a stranger and a doppelganger would. His son had also followed his stiff and hesitant lead, receding into the house and positioning himself by the hat rack.  
For the moment, you kept yourself from looking around the house and instead focused on the fatal weight of the silence along with the two gentlemen currently humbly offering you their gentlemanly services. As you enter their home, you began unbuttoning your grey pea coat perhaps little too aggressively as your frost touched cheeks redden with the warmth of the indoors and the marvel of central heating.   
It seemed reflexive, you deliberated, as John’s father assisted you in removing your jacket and thus folding it along with your scarf over this arm. The gentleman does the same with your father’s thicker wool coat and hands them to John to hang up on the hat rack. John drapes the coats on the proper pegs, keeping your cyan knit scarf last within his grasp and looking back to his father. He was wringing his hands nervously with the scarf, looking between the two fathers as yours decidedly removed his fedora.   
Mr. Crocker held his hat between his hands, turning it by the brim adroitly and surveying the living room of the house. You however did not venture your eyes around the room nor did you examine any article within the home as any appropriately qualified gumshoe would have set to work doing right off the bat. Instead, you kept your eyes trained on John as he smoothed your scarf absentmindedly.   
He understood, you reasoned, that you didn’t feel just quite ready to look around at the home you hadn’t been to in, god, how long? Three, four, maybe five years. You’d lost track somewhere along the way after embarrassing yourself with Jake at your birthday party since your birthday was really the only indication to the time passing. Not that any of those years or parties mattered anymore, you reasoned, as you’d returned to an earth in a time that was set only days before the Beta kids had begun the game and at the age you had been only days before you and the Alpha kids had begun the game. Thus, you were a young teen again.  
“Harlequins?” your father asks, somewhat surprising you from your thoughts and directionless worry. He was still by your side and still—you ventured to guess—looking around the house just as you were still staring at John. Of course he didn’t mind though, in fact the small smile and nod he gave you was the strength you needed to break your eyes away from him. You were audacious and brave and more than willing to recklessly plunge yourself into the memories of the once before when not burning the Betty Crocker cake in the oven was your only greatest worry.   
“John’s interests.” Mr. Egbert supplies to your father’s question politely yet you noticed how tersely he’d said it. Defensively almost, as if he was waiting for someone to jump out and tell him that that too was just a pigment of his imagination or a lie. However as they progressively grew colder with each other you felt yourself drifting off.   
It seemed you where leading yourself in the direction of an entirely different conversation apart from there’s. Their tense chatter dropped away and as if from a distance you surveyed the living room intently. The question vaguely popped into your mind as well. Harlequins? Of course when this had been your home, foxy mustachioed detectives had adorned those frames yet other components of the room seemed identical; the furniture, the wallpaper, and even that hideous area rug that festooned the carpet in front of the couch. Those saloon style doors still dictated the kitchen entry just as that unsightly tiffany lamp claimed the side table adjacent to the couch.   
The fire place was in use, you attentively noticed, when the crackle of the embers settling into the hearth begged your curiosity. It was not, in your best interest, the brightest thing to turn your mind to as your eyes moved to the mantle. You’d expected to see the beloved Poppop—as it was in your home—yet instead you were met with something a little less pleasing.   
Setting atop the oak surface of the mantle was an ordinate urn that was marvelously polished and only a preface to the photo of an elderly woman that was framed on the wall behind the urn. She was smiling, something you wagered she’d done quite often in her lifetime by the laugh lines that habitually settled into a rounder face brimming with adoration. She wore cyan framed bifocals that perched on her small nose by a string of pearls.   
“It’s good to see you again, Janey.” John says, a little too loudly for pleasant conversation, yet you gathered he was merely trying to pull you from your transfixed gaze on the mantle. If anything, you wagered he’d had to repeat himself. Why, you’d seen him just last week when the two of you had finally convinced your fathers to embark on the short 30 minute drive to a shopping mall in Seattle where you had exclusively met up in the food court there.   
But you couldn’t go alone! Your cover story was to go shopping with Roxy, who caught a cab to your home after using John’s transportalizer. John went with Jake (after a shaky meeting) ‘to show the new exchange student from school a good time around town’. Mr. Egbert had bought it naively and concluded his son was growing into a nice man what with showing a foreigner around. Likewise, your father was none the wiser to your funny business in recognizing Roxy from descriptions you’d given him before the game had gone down.   
Strangely, you thought, he didn’t remember too many select details from before the game. In fact, it had rather struck you as peculiarly idiosyncratic that his memory didn’t seem to be as top notch as it had been pre-sburb. Maybe this was an incredibly significant detail that you should’ve taken into account. Ironically, it was probably an incredibly significant detail that you should take into account.   
“Uhm, yeah. You to John…” after setting the socially appropriate half smile on your lips you trail off. It wasn’t as if you were uninterested in engaging in his polite gentleman’s chat; you were merely otherwise occupied at the moment considering certain important things and statistically categorizing their importance.   
You watched your father and calculated his body language easily. He wasn’t comfortable in the slightest yet as compared to earlier when you wagered he was ready to bump someone off, you were rather grateful for his calmer façade. He had his left hand in the pocket of his black suit pants and his arms looked stiff at the elbow were they were bent. His jaw, too, was hard set, mirroring John’s fathers to a T.   
They had distanced themselves from each other considerably; Mr. Egbert choosing to stay by the coat rack with a hand perched a little too securely atop his son’s shoulder and your father by your side near the door with his hand firmly pressed into the space just below your scapulars. You could just lightly feel the brim of his fedora that he held in that hand pressing into your back.  
It almost seemed threatening, anyone might assume, but you knew this was a protective stance of a father to his offspring. In addition, John had told you that everything would be okay and he was on the level about nearly everything, as far as you knew. You trusted John Egbert. Even with his wisecracks and pranks, you knew him to be a dependable partner in crime stopping.   
“Make yourselves comfortable.” Mr. Egbert says, indicating to you and Rose with a small, chivalrous nod that the young ladies should, of course, be allowed to occupy the couch whilst the men made themselves useful in standing about. Finding some comfort in this, you wordlessly watched Rose noiselessly descend the remaining stairs as you made your way to the couch. She took a seat gracefully, perching herself at the edge as if expecting conflict yet remaining deceptively calm in doing so. You, however, felt at home (this was your home too, at a time) and sat back into the sofa, crossing your legs as you did so.   
Rose offered you a small, assuring smile as you sat beside her that you returned shakily. To distract yourself, your eyes then followed John as he crossed the room to the stairs and took a seat on the bottom step. Dave, his friend—or boyfriend, so far as Roxy had made a bet with Dirk—mutely sat down beside him. He wore shades indoors too, you remembered, like Dirk did and for good reason at that.   
If you hadn’t been looking for it you might just had missed how both boys clasped their hands together in the space between them that was surely hidden from Mr. Egbert and your father. You wagered Roxy would win that bet that they were dating just as you figured his father hadn’t the slightest clue about his son’s boyfriend. That seemed to be another secret his was hiding from his father.   
Speaking of which, Mr. Egbert had moved and was now leaning against the left side of the fireplace that was closest to the kitchen entrance. His arms were folded over his chest resolutely as he stiffly leaned against the corner of the mantel piece and brick structure of the fireplace. Similarly, your father firmly occupied the opposite space of the fireplace with just as much stern fatherly disapproval as Mr. Egbert.   
His stance was no more open than his supposed twin either. Mr. Crocker held his fedora by the brim between his hands and sporadically flipped the hat in slow methodical movements. The rest of his stature—during the slight movements of his hands—remained severe. By their stances, you wagered this house would be once again in full fatherly lockdown mode within so much time as a blink. Both father’s rigid demeanor seemed to be the only fixed point within the room and yet their eyes seemed to be searching for clues to what the big idea was.   
You didn’t need to take a fleeting glance at your faithful sidekick to know that he wouldn’t spill the beans before the time was ripe. Like you’d confirmed with yourself earlier; you trusted John no matter what. However, it was certainly time for coming clean and explaining to these two men what they had forgotten when they’d reawakened—here; on earth.   
When Mr. Egbert had gotten out of bed on a Thursday morning and set about preparing customary morning coffee while his son awoke in a blind panic on the railed balcony outside. When your father had been roused from unconsciousness at his station behind the cash register by the bell that signaled a customer entering his shop and you had stirred awake to find yourself lying in a disheveled mess on the floor in isle 4.  
Similarly, it seemed, both fathers had regained consciousness without the slightest clue as to what in god’s name had gone down without his consent.   
You’d often wondered why it had happened like that—everything sliding back into place without so much as neither a protest nor indication to its means. Honestly, your primary question when you’d awoken was why you weren’t in your own home. You were well aware it wasn’t your house in Maple valley even if a considerable stretch of time separated you from the last time you’d lived in that house.   
None the less, it had been somewhat of a shock when your eyes had cracked open to view the bottom of a cardboard display of whoopee cushions and a shopping isle on cyan tiled floors. Why were you lying on the floor? You hadn’t the slightest clue what the ‘Prankster’s Gambit’ was or why in the ever loving fuck your dad owned a practical joke store, but you were back and your dad was standing behind the register and he was giving you a confused look but he was alive.   
And so you cleared your throat and began to steel yourself for your next words. For the ‘present’ generation of Crocker/Egbert tag teaming of elucidating, clearing up and news breaking that was as inescapable as it was inevitable. You figured, with some vague reassurance, that Rose and Dave would offer their assistance when needed. It was a long story, you realized, and would certainly require help telling.


	10. Transportalizer Whimsy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so far overdue I really don't know what to say except sorry. Additionally, for those readers who have stayed with this story, thank you. And, if you're new to this shitstorm, I am very much hopefully that updates will be more consistent over this summer. With this in mind, enjoy.

You had, incredibly, succeeded quite well in conveying this story to them, you realized. In fact, it had taken much less time than you had initially thought it would. ‘it,’ being in this case, describing to your father and Jane’s father where and what had transpired in the years that you hadn’t seen them—or as Jane had so eloquently put it—“when I wigged out that day in April and when you saw me wig out that other day in the other April.” This was, essentially, correct. Your birthday when the game had begun opposed to the stitched gap of time for your Sburbian existence that had seamlessly mended with their perception of the moments before the game started.   
If was almost as if you had continually played a well designed game with killer graphics and an inconceivably stupefying plot for years on end and then had logged off without saving any of your progress. Thus, after an unknowable long nap, you logged back on to see your cursor hovering over the game progress that you hadn’t left off on earlier but the point at which you had begun playing years before.  
If reminded you of the Pokémon game you’d played in sixth grade on your Gameboy SP when you’d collected the first five gym badges and forgotten to save your progress and BAM!—there you were; right back in Pallet Town with your mom smiling brightly at you. Or for this real like application, your father standing in the kitchen making coffee and reading the morning paper. Never the less the example still applied however with cake and less motherly love in his fatherly eyes.   
They’d taken it well, you thought, watching them even know as the two fathers—that were somehow one—blinked incredulously from you and Dave to Jane and Rose. You thought briefly that Jade should be here for this as the other three beta kids (yourself included) had been in the Crocker/Egbert household to discuss Sburb. She would have helped quite a large bit, you wagered, remembering the particularly memory alluding details she could have possibly supplied.  
She might have also provided some sort of tangible proof to convince your father, you realized, more than the mirror image of his teen mother that sat on the sofa. Maybe seeing his aunt in teenage bucked teeth and round glasses would inspire him. If it would, you’d even have her bring along Mr. Egbert’s young uncle; that gun slinging British fellow. Well, if Jane didn’t kill him before he stepped off the transportalizer.   
Speaking of, Jane had done splendidly in taking the uncharacteristically rude staring down from your father who you wagered was wondering exactly how she could be so liken to his mom. Jane shared mannerisms as well as a youthful version of your Nanna and you couldn’t help but assume that your dad would notice such about her.   
Similarly, you wondered if your humor was anything memory sparking to Jane’s dad. Maybe so and yet perhaps his solemn speechlessness was credited to confusion, denial, and anger. You didn’t particularly blame either of them if they descended into an irritated state of bewilderment and refutation after this explanation. It didn’t make much sense, you thought suddenly, though the four of you had done your very best to reveal the details and assemble the truth as soundly as possible. It wasn’t as if you expected them to fully comprehend this entire hullabaloo immediately; it would take time.  
Which, speaking of, they seemed to be attempting very vehemently to understand what you’d all said. You father as well as Jane’s stood pensively, statue-like as they deliberated the news. What were they thinking? Your dad had always been such a light-hearted and trusting gentleman that it pained you to see him so serious and grounded. Should you offer them a pat on the back or a seat on the couch? Maybe even a beverage to lighten the tangibly tense mood?   
Maybe someone else would? You were, admittedly, perhaps falling into the affected radius of the bystander affect that extended throughout the room. Someone else might break the silence. Jane was sitting on the couch by Rose, fiddling with her pudgy hands while Rose straightened her skirt nervously. Dave was silent, waiting for shit to go down with a tense, hard body and a vigilant stare. You were the one in the room who had last spoken.  
You’d just finished explaining the remainder of the events of the game and how you’d ‘returned’. You still held Jane’s cyan scarf in your hands and had been thumbing the separate strings of yarn absentmindedly. If you weren’t mistaken, Rose had knitted it for Jane as a sort of ice breaker or maybe a welcoming gift. Ice breaker; if only Rose could knit another one of those.  
“Not all at once, people.” Dave says, both startling everyone in the room and effectively breaking the silence. Leave it to that prick to get the job done when it came down to smart assery and cunning. You give him a sideways glance, feeling all eyes turn to the two of you as you narrow your eyes at him accusingly. That probably was not the most appropriate thing to interject.   
“It’s not that big of deal. It’s over. It happened and now it’s in the past.” He adds, looking away from your tense cerulean gaze and instead looking quite directly at Mr. Egbert. He then moves his eyes to Mr. Crocker and, without flinching, held that cold, unmoving stare. Those men were transformed, you thought, and it occurred quite painfully to you that they may have been better off never knowing about the game.   
“I believe what Dave means is that what has transpired is unalterable. Whether we acknowledge what happened or remember what has occurred is irrelevant, arguably. What is imperative is that we all move on together and effectively.” Rose supplies eloquently, stilling her hands in her lap and taking the fathers’ stare just as unflinchingly. Perhaps it was trait Strider’s and Lalonde’s possessed in their arsenal of behavior combat. It was a useful tool which you wished you could master. Maybe then you could look your father in the eye without seeing his dead body lying on checkered tile and in a pool of his own blood.   
“Do you…believe us though?” Jane asks, talking for the first time in quite a while, though she had aided in the story elaboration. You father had watched her in particular, in between cold glances at you and confused glances at Rose like he was trying to remember something. Did he recognize her likeness to her mother whom he had met during the game? Irrelevant, you reminded yourself, such as Rose had said. Do not dwell on details of the game, though you mustn’t repress or suppress them. Gog, what did that even mean?  
“I don’t know but I want to believe it and I don’t want to. You’re my child and I trust you, Jane. But how can I possibly believe a story like that? I’m not even entirely certain I understand it all.” Mr. Crocker replies tersely, uncrossing his arms in a gesture that accounted for the first movement he’d made in the prolonged time you’d been expressing all this elucidation and observing all these explanations.   
Your father gives Mr. Crocker a sidelong glance as if he too had been seconds away from saying just the same thing. They were so similar it was alarming yet they were different. It was if they possessed the identical core traits and genetics yet their individuality had developed away from each other and, thus, was marginally diverse. Like twins reared apart.   
“How can we prove it to you?” Jane answers, looking from Rose to you and Dave fleetingly. Your first conceivable solution was to show them the transportalizers and perhaps even take them to the Lalonde’s home. The futuristic technology would no doubt convince them and if not, then perhaps the sensible confirmation of your validity from practical adults such the Mom Lalonde duo would do the trick.  
But what if that didn’t work? Jake and Jade could come over. In fact, you felt guilty thinking you’d left them out of this. But it’d all happened so quickly! Maybe the help and proof they could have provided had merely slipped your mind amongst the intensity and confusion. Jake could spark remembrance within Mr. Crocker when he recognize the bucktooth yet youthful grin of Poppop Crocker and Jade the sweet bucktooth smile of Grandma English. And maybe your dad would recognize Jake as his Uncle Harley? Gog, you had to stop thinking of Mr. Crocker and Mr. Egbert as different people or this was going to remain confusing. Damn that scratch.   
Ugh, you were still struggling to understand this ectobiological/biological/adoptive bullshit and it was supposed to be your field of expertise. Honestly, it was still perplexing to you how all of these people were existing at once in the same time and plane. You couldn’t help but think it was all a very delicate balance and that something even trivial could send it tumbling into tumult.   
“We can take you to the Lalonde’s lab in Rainbow Falls. I still have a transportalizer.” You look between them, wondering quite desperately if your suggestion would prove useful in helping them see the truth. Rose nodded reassuringly at you when you gave her a cursory glimpse, adding to your confidence as you stood abruptly. You took a deep breath, offering the fathers a small smile as you clasped your hands together in front of you.   
“Just wait a second. Let me get this straight,” Mr. Crocker begins, putting his hands in front of himself, palms up, and looking at you accusingly. You wagered that asking questions was probably an improvement on his part. At least he wasn’t in denial.   
“John is my half brother? And my daughter is actually my genetic grandmother? But Ole man John—Poppop—is my father?” He finishes, gesturing to Mr. Egbert and looking to you for confirmation. You mentally check over his family tree swinging, carefully, then take a small breath before replying.   
“…Yes. Sort of. Well you and my Dad are kind of the same person? But wait till you meet Jade and Jake. It only gets more complex, unfortunately, though really it’s actually very fascinating.” You say, stopping yourself from continuing any further and wringing your hands nervously as the fathers look from you to Jane to each other. Rose and Dave were watching quietly through this, though you knew they both were supporting you. Dave’s knee pressed reassuringly into your calf, the point of contact served as an anchor for your stability and a means for which you pressed forward into this ordeal.   
“Are they related to us too?” Mr. Egbert asks, pointing rather rudely from Rose to Dave as if he’d lost a part of his gentlemanly self in this dispute. He also leaves his gawk upon Rose, staring as she returns his stare and quite suddenly responds to him. She had yet to speak directly to him which, you wagered, was attributed to some mental conflict involving her likeness to her ‘mother’ and the relationship she’d had with him.   
“You’re vaguely familiar. That scarf…” he trails off, closing his fist slowly and pursing his lips as he backs from his statement, recoiling as if his memory had failed him once more to his own irritation. Should you tell him how he knew about Rose’s scarf and, more importantly, her mom? That would involve, you dreaded, telling him about his death. You’d skipped that detail during the great explanation and you were very appreciative to find that neither Rose nor Dave mentioned that you had omitted it.   
“You met Rose’s mom in the Medium of the Pre-Scratch universe for a short time before…you, ah, died.” You say, trailing off so pathetically you almost preyed they didn’t hear your last words. Looking down at your hands and shifting uncomfortably, you found yourself continuing. He needed to know, deserved to know the truth of his fate.   
“Jack killed you and Mom Lalonde. I found you both dead in the castle in Skaia. I think you had been having a dinner date or something.” You finish, rushed and tactless as if your words were falling over each other in a quick, jerky procession. You could feel Dave’s hand pressing lightly on your back and knew quite suddenly that he would be there to support you. Lamely, you thought, tears were prickling in your eyes and a slight blush was setting itself on your once flushed features. You wouldn’t cry in front of them, however, and one shaky breath later, you successfully swallowed the rising panic you felt.   
“You found me murdered?” Mr. Egbert asks after a moment of silent deliberation. His body visibly loses tension, you notice, as your eyes finally find him and you once again revel in the realization that he wasn’t dead anymore. He takes a small step toward you, unsure whether he should embrace and console you or to punish you for telling a particularly destructive lie. But, thankfully, you began to see the signs of belief lighting in his eyes and knew quite solidly that he believed everything you’d said.  
“I…yes…” you answer quietly, flicking your eyes around his face and searching for the conflicted emotions swirling there. He was so deeply concerned for you that it moved something sentimental within you yet a tinge of regret and sorrow made you feel immensely guilty for telling him. In all honesty, you could’ve left out his death as a detail. It wasn’t entirely necessary in explaining his role in the game…  
“I’m so sorry, son.” He replies slowly, yet he didn’t put a fatherly hand upon your shoulder or extend his solace any further. Was it because you were in front of your friends and he didn’t intend to embarrass you? Maybe. Or maybe he blamed you because you’d played the game and brought him into it thusly. No, you couldn’t go on and tell yourself something like that. You had to make amends with the introspective conflict rattling your skull and darkening your thoughts. Forgive and move on, John Egbert.  
“It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault…you’re here now. We’re all here.” You say confidently with a shaky smile that you offer to both fathers. You sense Dave gathering himself from the stair step behind you, putting one hand on the banister and the other at the space between your shoulder blades. It comforted you to know that there was someone, quite literally, backing you up in all of this. Jane then stands too, smoothing her skirt much the way Rose did and taking a deep breath from the tense air.   
“That’s absolutely right, John. Perhaps Roxy’s mother as well as my mother can elaborate further. “ Rose says formally, joining the others in standing and giving a small sweep of the arm towards the stairs. She looks at you as if waiting for you to make the first move. The others seem to follow suit and before you knew it you were once again the leader of a bunch of kids and confused parents. You wondered quite brightly what made them always look to you as if you were actually capable of steering this massive shitstorm.   
“The transportalizer is in my room. I have been hiding under my bed for the past while. It’ll take us to Rainbow Falls—where the Lalonde’s live in New York—relatively quickly.” You explain, turning to mount the stairs without another moment’s hesitation and carefully maneuvering past Dave. He followed you without thinking and suddenly you found yourself noticing that Jane and Rose had begun moving towards the stairs in following as well. Pausing, you watched the fathers as they processed this exodus carefully before decidedly following pursuit. Incredible.   
Though you felt like a blind leading the blind, you continued into your room standing on the humming transportalizer as everyone filed into the room to stand about it. The fathers furrowed their brows accordingly, crossing their arms and looking distastefully at the flat, stout pedestal of metallic transportalizer. You looked down at the fractal pattern on its face, scoffing your converse against it and clasping your hands behind your back absentmindedly.   
“So during the game, these things were pretty much on every plane—The Medium, Planets, Derse, Prospit, and even the Ecto Lab in The Veil, just to name a few. Jade was too lazy to use the stairs at her house so she had them everywhere around the central stairwell haha…” you say by way of explanation, watching your father’s reaction as he seems to recall the places that you mentioned. Though it was a bit of a far stretch, you hoped he remembered them; actually remembered them instead of recalling the events you retold.   
“How do we use it? Do you just type in the address and, ah, go?” Mr. Crocker asks, raising an eyebrow when you tap your foot against the transportalizer inattentively. You turn your attention to him yet seem to address your father as well. Hopefully this wouldn’t need too much of an explanation.   
“I’m not really sure of the inner workings. That’s more of Rose’s mom’s expertise. When I use it, I just think of my destination…” you pause remembering the modern, chic, and imaginatively angular home perched on a waterfall of Adirondack State Park. You thought of Observatory, the Mausoleum, and crashing through Rose’s bedroom wall from LOLAR’s second gate and breaking her Totem Lathe. Iridescence began pouring from the mute monochrome surface of the transportalizer as it hummed to life beneath you. A slight thrill went through your tense body as air from the cooling fans blew through the vents and lifted your hair and clothing.   
“…and it just sort of zaps you there.” You finish, taking your hands from behind your back and relinquishing the memories of the Lalonde mansion. The transportalizer below you stilled and lost both his glow as well as its allure with your thoughts. The fathers don’t seem very impressed, you think dully, and furthermore could stand to be surprised. Definitely stand to be surprised.   
“Of course you more than likely do not recall the lab, Mr. Egbert and Mr. Crocker. Therefore it may be wise for you to travel with someone else. Why doesn’t John take Mr. Crocker? And Jane accompanies Mr. Egbert. You could certainly stand to become acquainted with one another.” Rose addresses you before looking to Jane questioningly. Jane returns her stare, blankly for a moment, before answering quite embarrassingly.   
“I, uhm, I don’t think so. Maybe you or Dave should?” Jane replies, pulling her mouth to the side and twisting her hands in front of her. You didn’t think it was a particularly embarrassing thing not to remember the lab. Maybe she only thought it was an especially tense faux pas on her part because of her friendship with Roxy. Honestly you didn’t know if she’d even ever been to the Lalonde residence.   
“I volunteer as tribute.” Dave supplies quite suddenly, raising his hand slowly. You wondered if he was volunteering to take on your father to save Rose the embarrassment of his questioning stare. Or perhaps he just wanted to get to know his boyfriend’s father better. Either way your eye twitched in unease.   
“Great.” Rose says tersely before motioning for Dave to stand with Mr. Egbert. He does so hesitantly, perhaps realizing that he was going to stand with his bae’s dad, as he might put it. Or maybe that Texan’s idea of southern hospitality had him questioning his sanity in confronting the man who fathered his boyfriend. Weren’t fathers, like, territorial over their daughters in the south or something? Not that you were a daughter nor that your father knew about the two of you. However you weren’t particularly sure if your father would react to the news of your relationship with Dave as calmly as he had to the revelation of SBURB.   
Nervously, you reach your hand to Mr. Crocker, wondering if he would even comply with being the first of the two to use this foreign, impossible technology. He had no reason to trust you, really, besides the memories of Poppop he might harbor and the reassuring look Jane was giving him. You hoped that would be enough and, more importantly, that you’d both make it safely to the lab.   
You offer him a small smile as he steps onto the transportalizer bravely, ignoring your hand and smile coldly. He certainly wasn’t identical to your father, you thought, though you oddly didn’t blame him so much for his wintriness. It had been you who had turned his quite suburban life upside down with your talk of ectobiology and timelines shenanigans.   
You look up embarrassedly at him just as he looks down his narrow nose expectantly at you. Pursing your lips after a deep breath you quickly imagine the Lalonde mansion in all its modernist glory and mentally summon the mechanism’s whirl of both light and time. Instantaneously, you feel the pad disappear from below your feet and Mr. Crocker’s hand fearfully grasp your forearm as the same gut wrenching sensation defrosts his frigid demeanor towards you.   
Space bends and creaks around you in the seconds you were suspended in this dimensional alcove of transportation. Though your eyes are closed against the blood warm rush of air, you were almost certain the vivid opalescence and oil spill of rainbow hues flew past your forms. You’d looked once, though the brightness had blinded you as if you’d tried staring into the sun too long. Regardless, it was all vastly relative and passed almost as quickly as if it’d never happened. You almost wished it hadn’t.   
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Mr. Crocker groans, releasing your forearm and taking a shaky step backwards off the round platform. You do the same, unaware of both when the next person would arrive and what would happen to someone occupying a space of bendable space that very suddenly held another occupant. It might be an interesting experiment, you thought, to see what would happen to someone standing on a transportalizer when another person arrived. Maybe they’d be cut in half like a particularly nasty sy-fy horror or maybe they’d be shoved aside into the pocket of interspacial travel, lost in space. No doubt a question for a Lalonde mom.  
“I should’ve told you to hold your breath…sorry.” You amend, watching as he uneasily straightens his black tie and presses a fist to his mouth. Pushing your hands deep into your cargo short’s pocket, you turn from him to watch the green glow of the active Lalonde transportalizer and bite your lip nervously. Gog, how long would it take them? Had something gone wrong?  
“So, you’re both Jane’s grandpa and her grandson?” Mr. Crocker asks, breaking the silence and your staring match with the emerald pedestal. You look over at him, noticing his wondering gaze as he looks from futuristic technological advancement to ultramodern scientific development that occupied the lab. You wanted to explain every invention—the Alchemiter in the corner, the Totem Lathe by that, the Apearifier next to the Sendificator, and the Transmateralizer (which did both the Apearifier and the Sendificator’s job, rendering them useless, you thought).   
“Uhm yes.” You reply, shaking your thoughts back to his question and away from the innovative inventions around you. He had crossed his arms over his chest again, closing himself off and effectively discouraging your responses.  
“But I thought I was her genetic grandson.” He continues, squinting at you as if looking for some semblance. You thought he looked sort of odd without his fedora and pipe, though you certainly restrained your impulse to say so. That was probably unwise to do. Instead you carefully considered his question and replied as tentatively as possible.   
“You are. So you’re my half-brother.” You say, shrugging and turning your attention back to the transportalizer. It was humming with a considerable amount of energy, you noted, perhaps indicating that another traveler was soon to arrive. Half-brother, you thought. Weird.   
“And your son.” Mr. Crocker adds, uncrossing his arms and instead letting them hang loosely by his sides. Weirder. To think he was actually your son?   
“Yeah, well Poppop’s son but y’know.” You amend, probably for your own sanity as well as his. His silence makes your skin crawl and so hesitantly you look over at him, wondering vaguely if he was still breathing.   
“Alrighty.” He says, pursing his thin lips into a sort of encouraging smile. That part sure reminded you of your father. The encouragements, support, and concern for your own self-esteem. It made you miss what you’d had with your dad before this game had gone down and made you question whether you could rebuild that in the future. That also seemed like a question for a Lalonde.  
“Alrighty?” you ask, not quite understanding if those were his only questions. In all this weird plot shit and ectobiological shenanigans, those were the only questions he could come up with?  
“Yep.” He replies, nodding slightly and looking away from you to gaze at the transportalizer. Maybe he would have further inquiries later, when the initial shock had subsided. He actually didn’t seem so freaked by the transportalizer either.   
“Alrighty.” You respond, thinking that you could just glimpse a change in the transportalizer’s occupied space. Taking a small step backwards to give them space, you watch as Rose and Jane appear on polychromatic pedestal in a radiant flash of emerald light that has you blinking dark dots out of your vision long after they’d stepped off the transportalizer.   
“I think Dave is considering escorting your father to prom.” Rose tells you, rolling her eyes and coming to stand beside you leisurely. Jane tentatively gives her father a smile of reassurance as she comes to stand beside him as well. He returns it, displaying his infinite support for his child and the kindness in his eyes that made them crinkle at the corners.   
“What?” you turn your attention back to Rose, giving her the kind of questioning stare that could only be provoked by a Strider’s insolence or incredulous gumption. You figured your ignorance would be amended, however, by the re-ignition of the transportalizer’s whimsy and mastery of space.   
“Oh my Gog, Dave.” You groan, watching in humiliation as he steps from the device with your fathers arm looped through his. So that’s what Rose meant by saying that Dave was taking your dad to prom? For the love of all that was holy, you wondered how you stayed friends with that lunatic.   
“Jealous?” Dave retorts, giving your father’s forearm a firm patting before releasing him all together. Mr. Egbert glances at him quickly, amused by his antics, or so you hoped. It felt so odd to see your father with your boyfriend, as if their convergence of presence could somehow out you. You would tell your dad some time about Dave…now was certainly not the time though it was pleasant to know they at least seemed to get along.   
“Hardly.” You reply, mouthing ‘sorry’ to your dad as Dave then joins you. As a second thought, you watch your father from the corner of your eye, examining his tense poise as he looks about the lab in much the same manner of wonderstruck that Mr. Crocker had. His hands are shoved in his black dress pants pocket as he slowly meanders to stand near his ecto counterpart, eyes wondering and distant as he does so.   
“My mother should still be here. I’ll check her, ah, office.” Rose says, turning towards the wooden door with the frosted glass that Mom Lalonde had been left through much much earlier. Rose adds a small ‘excuse me’ as she walks purposefully to the door though you see her nervously wringing her hands. You admitted you were nervous as well and rightfully so.   
Though the explanation had gone smoothly and the transportalizer’ing had, you wondered how the fathers would take the rest of the news. You harbored concerns of your father’s reaction to Rose’s mom, most significantly. The feeling intensified as Rose disappeared behind the frosted glass after a small knock and polite pause.   
It occurred quite suddenly that this was what the foreseeable future would consist of; easing your father into the familiarity of the game and helping him cope with this new found knowledge. Though you were confident it would be wholly possible with the support of your friends, the undertaking still left you raw and churning inside. Flicking your eyes between the fathers, however, it became evident that telling them had been the right decision and that was certainly something you could be sure of.


	11. Adult Things and Ectobiology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a crush on Rose's Mom

You needed another gin right this instant. Either that holy alcohol manifested itself in your outstretched hand or your whole anatomy would slip off into the void like a particularly sloppy mudslide. You willed this to transpire—the physics defying materialization of your drink, that is. Not the mudslide though, honestly, if this hypothetical mudslide consisted of Bailey’s Irish Cream and Kahlua coffee liqueur rather than earthy debris, then you would certainly receive it with a welcoming embrace.  
You stared so fiercely at your sweating palm and slim fingers that you were nearly certain that you could conjure both the gin and the alcoholic application of the mudslide. A condensating crystal glass of clear gin, the slender stem of which was balanced between your middle and ring fingers…a fat margarita glass with that blended heavenly concoction garnished with grated chocolate swirls…  
Neither appeared and, quite frankly, that irked you more so than the sudden tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at your chamber door. Your hand fell unceremoniously to the pink sheets of your bed as your visions of alcoholic release evaporated like the unattainable mirage they were.  
Now who in their right mind would be summoning your presence at such an hour? Why you’d already retired to your room in the lab and bid The Children not to bother you. They were all out flaunting their youth and wasting away their precious lives doing god only knows what. Making out in the kitchen or drinking their brain cells into the negatives or building robots or scowling at their mothers or playing with pistols and rifles. That’s what they were doing. Not knocking at your door…no you were relaxing in your room, enjoying an ultimate mudslide and waiting for the bleary sleep of an alcohol induced unconsciousness.  
“Mom?” a soft voice, so gentle in her intent, so innocent in her formative years, whispers through the frosted glass of your room’s door. My god, did she have the gumption to address you? In this moment, you wondered what disaster warranted your attention, aid, or other service. She wouldn’t come to you for any other reason if not required to do so.  
“Yes, sweety, come in.” you moan, sitting up on the edge of your bed and wiping your nose on your hand. Blinking to bring the door into focus, you watch eagerly as she enters cautiously. She’d no doubt found this childish bedroom of yours, though it be nestled deep within Skaialabs, and thus you felt no shame in her presence in this bright pink lodging. Once upon a time, it might have humiliated you for it to be revealed to your daughter that, beneath your debonair demeanor, a young girl’s interests begged attention. Never mind that now, however.  
“What can I do for you, dear?” you ask, patting the unoccupied space of mattress beside you and smiling motherly at her. The motherese tone slipped into your voice by its own apparent need for her love, you thought. You nearly flinched at the sweet and sugary way your larkesque accent sounded. She would reject that motherly tone, you knew even before her lips pursed disapprovingly. She thought you were mocking her and being the passive aggressive dictator she thought you to be. Oh sweety, please don’t think I’m mocking you.  
“John, Dave, Jane, and I explained the game tribulations to Mr. Egbert and Mr. Crocker.” She replies, her dainty hands moving almost reflexively to smooth her skirt. She is trying not to look around the room, you notice; her eyes remained fixedly on your face (though not your eyes). She shifts uncomfortably, her jaw muscles fluttering as she seems to hesitate in continuing. Was she going to ask something of you? Perhaps she merely sought your approval since she had taken the initiative of aiding in revealing such a terrible occurrence to The Fathers. In your honest opinion, The Children should’ve just left those poor men in the dark.  
“Can you elucidate some of it to them as well? Perhaps hearing the truth from an adult will solidify our validity.” She tells you, not asks. It didn’t escape your attention that her eyes happened to leave your face when she’d called you an ‘adult’. Had she really ever seen you as more than a patronizing older sister? Had you ever seen yourself as more than a child playing grown-up?  
“Why did you tell Mr. Egbert and Mr. Crocker about that unfortunate game?” you ask gently, watching intently as her eyes flicked from the small wizard figurines to the bright pink furniture—anything but you. Truthfully, you had not meant this inquiry to be condescending of her executive decision; it was an honest question. The Fathers didn’t need to know about the events which transpired within the game nor their untimely demises. Why not leave them ignorant to such trauma? Rose, dear, you should’ve known this and had the decency to convince your friends the same.  
“It was all very sudden. I believe they would’ve remembered eventually, much like Dave’s Bro. Morally, it was eating away at John and Jane…” she trails off, maybe at a loss for words or maybe feeling she didn’t need to justify her actions to you. Her hands clasp behind her back and subtly she leans back against the door for support.  
She looked so tired; so aged and wise in her child eyes. That damned game you’d helped construct had matured her well beyond her years and exposed her to the sort of terrors that no child should ever be forced to battle. It pained you more so to remember how eager she had been to play the game and share it with her little friends. Like lambs to slaughter and you’d crafted the butcher’s block.  
“Mother?” she asks, perhaps a little more firmly than she’d intended. Though your eyes rested on her, she realized you were lightyears away in thought, the unbridled frontier. Rose sighs deeply, sauntering towards you after a moment’s hesitation and putting a delicate hand to your shoulder. It breaks you from your thoughts and causes your gaze to fix on hers stably. She was here and she was yours and with an alternate universe of calamities in mind, you would do everything within your power to keep her with you.  
“Yes, yes. I will talk with them.” You say hurriedly, your words tumbling out quickly as she removes her hand and scrunches her nose distastefully. She hated that smell—the alcohol on your breath. It made her recoil every time. This was all so tense you thought the atmosphere would become so tangible one could choke on it. It’d always been with her.  
“We brought them to the lab.” Rose states clearly, raising her fragile little chin superiorly as if she was waiting for you to passively aggressively break her down and reject her decisions. What was she balancing there? Her confidence seemed to wobble on the tip of her chin as you stood leisurely, allowing your joints to become accustomed to standing.  
Though you stood a head taller than her presently, you knew she would grow to be as tall as you were. Sans kitten heels, you thought, recalling your encounter with Roxy’s mother hours earlier. Christ on a cracker, she scared the living devil out of you; that sophisticated, powerful, keen woman your daughter would one day mirror. It was a glimpse into a reality you’d never dreamed could coincide with your own.  
“Well then, shall we?” you say, offering her a smile and gesturing towards the door widely. Her brow creases sourly and lips press into a firm line as if she vehemently wished to say more. As she turns uncertainly towards the exit, your hands move to your blonde hair, patting and fusing with it frivolously. Wiping your thumb around your lips, you attempt to fix your lipstick and secure some sort of stability in your appearance. Did you look alright? God, you didn’t want to embarrass her in front of her friend and…him.  
“You look fine, mother.” Rose tells you, taking you off guard with her soft understanding. You pause in your haste, looking at her appreciatively as you smooth your skirt and then straighten the neckline of your dress. She is poised by the door, one hand on the knob and the other hanging limply by her side. You can quite easily predict her next words, you noted brightly, moments before her firm lips slackened.  
“Actually…will you be alright? I mean, uhm, it isn’t my business what relationship you had with Mr. Egbert…” she trails off, clearly uncomfortable with this subject though she’d thought to ask you anyways, perhaps out of concern for you. Her cheeks are dusted with a light blush, you notice, and her confidence has slid right off that high-held chin of hers. Like a quiet mudslide; where was that precious chocolately vision you’d fantasized earlier?  
“He won’t remember. And yes, it is your business—to an extent.” You tell her, finally coming into your senses and stooping to secure a firm hold on your high-heels that waited by the vanity. Slipping them on expertly and righting yourself, you notice her nosey stare watching you intently. Was she hoping you’d spill the beans so she could write some damned lovecraftian horror about it?  
“We weren’t intimate; just shared similar interests in making the world safe for our children.” You tell her, offering the sort of soft edged smile that mothers always gave their children in movies. Dotingly, you watched her as she tightened her grip on the door knob and ground her teeth in her puckered little mouth.  
Though outwardly you ignored this tense dejecting attitude, inwardly your heart seized at her frostiness. Roxy had told you about how keen Rose had been to meet her ‘teen mother’ during the game and yet now she addressed her actual mother with the sort of cold shoulder that chips away at you. Why, you were quite certain the other Children were enthralled to be reunited with their Guardians! You foolishly imagined the picturesque reunion between Jonathan and his Guardian, thinking that Mr. Egbert was the sort of good father that had a good, grateful son.  
“You know, he told me so much about Jonathon. He seems like a fine young man.” You try to reconcile your differences and form some sort of ground where you could talk to her as if she didn’t despise you. Though it was all very hazy, you could recall the moments when Mr. Egbert had told you about his paranormal pranks, resourcefulness, hilarious antics, and generosity. He’d even questioned you about that faithful April day when John’s meteor had leveled the joke shop as well as Nanna. Despondently, you wondered if he accredited his survival to your presence that had drawn him from the doomed building.  
Fidgeting with your hands in front of you and wringing them absently, you notice her hard stare as she turns the knob to, finally, open the door of the lab. She opens it widely, gesturing with a mocking sweep of the arm for you to go first. You do, not taking any of her shit seriously and instead focusing on the greater deeds which were being put forth at the moment.  
You could see them all. Jonathon was standing with that Crockercorp heiress and your insufferable son. The Fathers were together, and had turned at the sound of your heels clicking on the Skaialab tile. In fact, The Children had also ceased their chatter to watch you expectantly as you made your merry way to their social grouping in the lab. Rose was following beside you though just a bit behind you as if she did not wish to be associated with you. Perhaps she just enjoyed sauntering in your shadow. Never the less, you greeted them all warmly and ignored her cold shoulder.  
“Hello and welcome to the Skaianet Laboratory, creator of the distinguished Sburb and all its superlative technology—at least in my universe.” You address the party collectively with a diminutive smile and open, palm-up sweep of your arms that charitably encompasses the visible aspects of the technologically advanced laboratory. Quickly, you mentally catalog and judge their reactions respectively. They’re all staring at you with so many different conflicting emotions it is enough to introspectively upset you though your careful façade reveals nothing.  
It was so plainly written on their faces, though you could’ve deciphered what laid behind their eyes effortlessly—a social skill that had saved both your career and life on more than one occasion. Ironic, seeing as your career was your life, you scoffed.  
The Crocker girl was taken completely by surprise, likely astonished by your resemblance to her pal Roxy and hitherto impressed by what you possessed that Roxy yet did not. Jonathan, a true friend, wasn’t gawking at you but rather had concerned-filled eyes only for Rose’s well being. David was, well, was being David; no doubt thinking some inappropriate epic narrative internal monologue about your noir femme fatality.  
And The Fathers—ah, The Fathers. You could certainly distinguish between the two of them, you noted impressively. Suave Mr. Crocker, true to his gentlemanly convention, reserved his stare properly and fixed his eyes quite appropriately to your face rather than your figure. If he had personally known you he would not have been so chivalrous or refined.  
Which brought your attention to Mr. Egbert. He was so aware of your heavy-lidded gaze that a Cheshire grin stretched your lips when you saw him staring. He looked just the same as you’d left him, though considerably lacking the pools of blood and destination-less stare. Middle aged, tall, broad chested, and sturdy as if he hadn’t gained much weight post-graduation. The prototypical father figure.  
“How are you, Mr. Egbert? It has been quite some time!” you don’t give yourself a moment to hesitate or flinch away from the elephant in the room. Instead you rather boldly choose to embrace it, quite literally. He doesn’t know how to respond as you throw your arms around his neck casually and only puts a light hold on your waist. As you pull away smiling, you get a good look at his face; stunned. How charming.  
“Ms. Lalonde! Fine, I’ve been—well truthfully, that is—considerably aghast at the fairy-tale I’ve been told.” He responds, his words tripping over each other and pulling a narrowed-eyed frown from his son. Fairy-tale? He was right to find it all relatively unbelievable though you were disappointed to learn he was so adamant in his denial.  
“That fairy-tale happens to be an ill-timed product of my life’s work.” You reply, rather tersely fixing your smile to an appropriate wattage. He’s speechless for a moment as if it finally registered in his mind that you’d helped create the game that had put this all in motion. Turning from his momentary flabbergast, you offer your hand to Mr. Crocker in a professional manner he reflexively reciprocates. Though he was identical to Mr. Egbert, it said, you were not old friends.  
“Mr. Crocker, what a pleasure.” You say properly, shaking his hand firmly and looking him in the eyes with the sort of business-like attitude that very quickly earned his approval. As a second thought, you turn to Jane and put a hand on her cheek fondly. You figured you could win both Roxy’s and Mr. Crocker’s approval by getting to know Jane. Two birds, one stone.  
“Jane, is it? Roxy has recounted wonderful things concerning you.” She nods in confirmation, not quite sure what to say and, you thought, still somewhat overwhelmed by your presence. Ah, but she was seemed so sweet; suited for baking, encouragements, and sugary smiles.  
“Same of you, Jonathon! It’s fantastic to finally meet you.” You turn to Mr. Egbert’s son now, only getting his attention when you set your hands on his shoulders firmly. He’d been staring after Rose with a face that was composed of reassurance and strength. As his cerulean eyes flick to yours expectantly, you release him, thinking he resembled Hass Harley and Nanna very evenly.  
“Just John. And yeah, it’s great to meet you too. Rose has told me a little about you.” He replies with a small smile and curt nod. He was not so easily trusting of you, something you accredited to his knowledge of Rose’s biased accounts of you. There was a guarded corner in his eyes and a diffident intelligence about him. It was apparent to you, in that moment, why he’d truly received the denizen Typheus.  
“Don’t forget me, Hot Mom. I expect some maternal doting and offhand judgment too.” Dave says, clearing his throat obnoxiously to warrant your attention and folding his arms across his chest in a mock display of hurt. Chuckling softly, you put a hand to his blonde shock of hair, ruffling it affectionately until he swatted your hand from his messy flaxen bird’s nest.  
“How could I ever, David?” you tell him, amused at the disarray you’d turned his hair into and only slightly annoyed that he’d called you ‘Hot Mom’. Maybe on another occasion you could call him out on it and perhaps join his adoptive Bro for an ectobiological parental tag-team of discipline.  
But now, you need to get down to business and address the monstrous cat that had been very chaotically let out of its loosely tied bag. Time to clean up the mess The Children had made. You know, adult things.


End file.
